Let me first get this out of the way: I studied abroad last fall. There, it’s said and done, and I will never say it again.
One day in Vienna, while on a rampant hunt for a blazer to complete a Hirevue due that day, I stumbled upon an electric blue Kappa fleece. Not just a fleece, but a quarter-zip.
“Do I have something just like this?” I asked myself (and the answer is always yes). “Do I need this?” Also, yes. “Will it bring me joy?” Immensely.
So, I took 18 euros from the remaining balance of my summer internship paycheck and bought the quarter-zip.
At first, I tried to hide my purchase from my mother, my sister and my friends, omitting it from my “What I bought in Vienna today” hauls to avoid the “Don’t you already have something like that?”
But after donning my new look every day, the secret could no longer be kept.
The abracadabra behind the quarter-zip is not in its zip, but in its quarter. The strong, structured collar holds up my head like a neck pillow, rather than a turtleneck strangling me. I feel warm, but not claustrophobic. The body of the quarter-zip resembles a soup dumpling: tighter up top, a gradual poof down the sides and tucked in at the bottom.
If needed, and in the right position, I can stretch the fabric around my curled knees like in elementary school, when I stuffed my entire body under one stretched-out T-shirt. I feel small, swallowed by the fabric, but I also feel an intense boyishness that makes me feel powerful.
The quarter-zip is traditionally worn by men who prance up and down Wall Street doing God-knows-what, steezy snowboarders who wear their goggles over beanies rather than helmets and gorpcore men who’ve taken up bouldering as part of their personality.
When I put on a quarter-zip, I feel the rush of the NYSE, hear the ringing of the bells, the swish of the trees and the roughness of granite or chalk. I adopt the personality of the clothing. I feel more laid-back. I feel cooler than I am. I feel a hint of someone I want to be.
This pattern repeats across much of my closet — thrifted or not. I browse, I see an intriguing garment, I envision myself wearing it in very specific scenarios and I purchase it with the hope of waking up the next day as the person who wears it.
This is a marketing strategy shared by thrift shops and conglomerates alike: the promise of who you might become through one more transaction. Consumerism excels at selling this unattainable identity, dressing models with no cellulite who are holding hands with another model along the beach and saying that it could all be yours “for $78.99.”
At least thrifting is eco-friendly, cheaper and there’s no model involved. It may foster a hoarding habit, leaving clothes to collect dust in the depths of my closet, yet there remains the satisfaction of saying, “It’s thrifted.”
The quarter-zip, however, felt a little more me. It felt like the Nike Tech I wore from 2015 to 2019, which I got from my basketball team. I wore it to feel like I belonged somewhere, that I fit in, that I was one of the players, that I was better than everyone else.
It felt like one of those Pinterest posts: Adidas track pants, boyfriend’s quarter-zip, a dainty pair of flats and micro sunglasses that barely fit the height of one’s eyes.
The quarter-zip is past, present, future and beyond. It is everything I am, will be and want to be.
So yes, it’s decided. This electric-blue quarter-zip makes me feel good about myself.
Zoe Chao is a Medill junior and author of “Undecided.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.
