I said it. I’m not sorry. No amount of emails, teachers snitching, or raised eyebrows from Ms. Martinez will sway my sentiments. After four years of faithfully obeying the uniform and another year mostly obeying it, I’m done. And you know what? That’s my right.

We seniors are in the midst of the college process, dealing with applications, essays, advanced courses, research projects, and the Net Price Calculator.  I’ve sacrificed mind and soul to this school for going on four years. Homework is my primary extracurricular. And when I’m not doing homework, I’m thinking about the homework I have to do. I have stress dreams about forgetting to sign into my morning free blocks. Over senior week, I barely had enough energy for my tours—I went in with grand plans of being productive in the hotel. Instead I just napped for five hours each day. (Highly recommend the CitizenM hotel in Boston. Really comfy beds.)

All this is to say that I’m exhausted.

And you know what else I’m tired of? Monochrome and tan. It’s not a look. It’s never been a look. My $3 Gildan t-shirts from Michael’s are not runway-ready. And I’m sorry I don’t own a solid black hoodie, okay? Navy blue Milwaukee is the best I can offer. Is that impacting my performance? Does it mess up the history curriculum? No? Then it’s time to join a new frontier.

It’s time, Westridge—abolish the uniform.

Radical, I know. Obviously, I’m the first person who’s raised this issue and taken this stance. It’s revolutionary—I get it, trust me.

But you know who else was revolutionary? Mary Lowther Ranney. Founding an all-girls prep school in 1913 when most girls didn’t go to school at all was pretty damn revolutionary; I’m sure her progressive sentiments, if adapted to the modern era, would find no issue with relinquishing this absurd addiction to the uniform. What is our insistence as an institution on staying married to tradition? The very founding of our school was a disruption of tradition; the legacy of Westridge is one which shirks convention. Why do we allow ourselves to fall victim to regression when every banner and poster on campus urges us to be bold, creative, and the next generation of leaders?

It may seem like a small facet—and perhaps it is—but I believe that if Westridge is advocating for creativity and independence, then it needs to be doing so on all fronts. How many people have graduated Westridge with stifled creativity, with the mindset that to be a woman means being modest, without a sense of personal style? Think of the children! I can safely say that my sense of style has hardly surpassed that of my elementary school self (t-shirts and shorts). And I could blame myself—maybe I should be picking up more fashion magazines—but why would I, when I can blame Westridge instead? After all, even if I were armed with an arsenal of 1000 style tips, I would have about three ways in which to exercise this knowledge. There’s a limit to what you can do with shoes, socks, and hats. I’m becoming a stereotypical bro with my rotation baseball caps, and my capacity for expression is locked away with the shirts I get to wear once a week.

There is a certain sense of happiness and assuredness that comes with the freedom to pick an outfit. You can be sure that the clothes are you, that they fit, that you like the colors, that they work with whatever aesthetic you’ve recently created a Pinterest board for. And while it’s a small change, I never fail to feel a little happier, a little more at peace on free dress days. There’s a bit more bounce in my step. I feel more at home with myself when I’m out of the uniform, feel more like the day is going to be okay.On those days where you stayed up late to finish a paper, got to class two minutes late and got marked absent, accidentally packed your bag 10 pounds heavier, and have to face a teacher you’re avoiding, having an outfit you love can make that little bit of difference and carry you across the finish line. But when you’re stuck in hell and you have to wear khaki, everything just falls down, domino-style.

But you know what happens when students are out of uniform? Nothing. No plague infects the campus.  No learning suffers.  No abundance of joy threatens to overthrow the female virtues.  To this end, I argue that freedom of garb will hardly cause the fall of Rome; indeed it would usher in a new renaissance of personal identity, reimagined presentation, and—to appeal to any remaining love of childlike wonder which still exists amongst administration—happiness.

But recent updates to the uniform-enforcement policy as well as upcoming events and PSA’s about the uniform indicate a reluctance on the part of this year’s administration to embrace the spirit of renaissance and progressivism, undermining the very values upon which Westridge was founded. I accept that change is slow to come and that my individual protestations—however well-argued and impassioned—are likely not enough to cause the complete abolition of the uniform this very year. But that’s frustrating because that supposedly-lengthy process of change is actually long in the making. For years, there have been subtle—and not so subtle—tweaks of the uniform. White shirts with small designs, blue overshirts that you can pass off by telling your teacher that navy sweaters used to be in uniform. What’s more, the hardly-kept open secret is that no one actually cares when students are out of uniform, despite their emails and AI tigers. It’s not admin’s priority crusade, not the hill they want to die on, so it is with great passion that I implore them to admit defeat, embrace that evident lack of care, and just call the fight off. 

I get that it makes the student body look hodgepodge when we’re all in differently-colored shirts. But you know what? We’ve looked hodgepodge for years. And Westridge is still standing. No Hellmouth opened up beneath Westridge, no prophets heralded our doom. If you disagree, I’ll go tell Mary Lowther Ranney that you don’t believe that the institution she created is strong enough to weather the storms of uniform flexibility. And I’m sure she’ll be very insulted and probably curse you from the grave. Trust me, and trust Mary—Westridge will survive some baby blue shirts and pink sweaters. 

I do want to address one point of rebuttal, which I was made aware of when discussing this article with my peers: the notion that the uniform is easier, less stressful, means you don’t have to make as many decisions, gets you out the door faster. You know what else does that? A capsule wardrobe. Your problems have solutions.

In short—I don’t like the uniform, and I want to wear graphic tees and athletic shorts to school. Westridge is cornering me in a box of flavorless neutrals when it has the capacity to be a campus bursting with the creativity of all its students. I want to see my classmates in pink blouses, denim skirts, and apparel from all the cool places they’ve been. I want to bring me to campus, and I want my peers to bring themselves. Let me and my classmates wear some fun shirts. Let us wear tank tops and purple and sweatpants and whatever the day calls for. Let me wear all the cool shirts I’ve been collecting since seventh grade. We’re all trying to get through the day, the week, the academic year. We’re all pushing on boldly to the next grade. Westridge often demands us to present as students first; getting rid of the uniform would allow us to bring some of our personality to the forefront again.