Stanford does Trash

Stanford students take dressing up seriously. Presumably, because they spent their previous life reading Scientific American, waiting for the day they would finally be able to let their inner child show. Life’s good when you can live in a Rugrats themed dorm and go trick-or-treating on the night of Halloween (finally!). The gusto with which Stanford students engineer their looks concatenates Meaty Gaga to Pageant perfection.

An American Interpretation

So when Euro-fest came along, and Stany got off at the Jersey shore, instead of the French Riviera, clearly something was lost in translation.

“Eurotrash: it’s European and it’s trashy… it’s Trashy European.”

Boys opted for the Ukrainian body builder’s shape enhancing, black tee and the BSB’s gelled hair like it was 1993. Girls were clad in the one and only American Apparel staple: The Nylon Figure Skater Dress. (Note: either take up figure skating, which is hard given that you chose to go to college in NorCal, or move the fuchsia and lime up to your eyes… I’m thinking shadow à la synchronized swimming).

‘Trashy European’. Because there’s another category for ‘Trashy African’. Maybe even ‘Trashy Middle Eastern’ or even better, ‘Trashy World Citizen’ (they say the UN is doing it like they do it on the discovery channel).

‘Eurotrash’ is not ‘Trashy’ with a seasoning of European on top. It’s the tall Swedish guy with dreamy blond locks and the pressed pick shirts; the svelte French boy with the Hermes watch; the Spanish chiquita with the Vuitton bag; and the hardest of the lot, the Lords and Ladies who speak your language, who are just like you…until you find out Granny goes shooting with the Queen. And thus, you become acquainted with the home of the smuggest of all European snobberies: the Gloucestershire countryside.

Folks, ‘Eurotrash’ would have been Ralph Lauren Olympic Polos, not breathable sports bras. Alas, boys and girls, ’tis hard to give up those glute-shaping Under Armor shorties.

Plus, let’s get something straight here on the farm: nobody cares where you came from. There’s no Hoya Paranoia, J-vard shoe-rub or bulldog hazing under the California sun. We, Stanford students, picked the fertile land of tech start-ups over the hierarchy of final clubs. But Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, oh my!: reinventing ourselves does not require picking between our proficiency in erudite social innuendos and our tree-loving, slap-happy smile.

So here’s our definition that may help you tip spot the real thing…

Eurotrash: The self-aggrandizing European whose loafers are a subtle exhibition of papa’s wealth and whose oh-so-charming-accent is a tasteful reminder that college is just another stop on the commute between Aiglon and Goldman Sachs.

Someday, it might be handy to know one.

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