I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because they are crap (and the reason the damn gym has been so crowded lately), but I did think near the end of 2009 that 2010 would be a great year to start wearing more red lipstick. My beauty routine, so to speak, is pretty low key — my hair and makeup take less than ten minutes on work days — but there’s something appealing about red lipstick, which for some reason I stopped wearing in my twenties. It’s one of those classic items everyone looks good in — including glow-in-the-dark-pale, dark haired types like myself. Only once have I ever written an article about makeup, but one of the most enjoyable essays I’ve gotten to work on was about the influence of music on personal style. Fashion writing is boring, but the connection between our creative influences and the way we dress actually interests me quite a bit.

This came to mind the other day when I was observing some of the young hipsters who wander around Wheeler Hall. Back in the 80s and early 90s, when I was wearing the most outrageous sort of shit I will ever wear (ankle length velvet gowns with a motorcycle jacket and a necklace made from human finger bones; flowered 1940′ aprons over torn jeans and under a shawl collared grandpa cardigan that reeked of pipe smoke; blue glitter harem pants with a ripped Iggy Pop tee shirt; 50s shirt dresses with a head scarf wrapped like a turban and so on), another girl of an independent, creative temperament could spot me at 10 paces and know we had something in common. I’m not saying women of my generation dressed better than Gen Y, but in my experience (probably colored by living in Oakland/Berkeley), we took a hell of a lot of risks, and these became a sort of radar for one another, sort of like the faded tattoos and piercing scars we now sport in our 30s and 40s.

I don’t see a lot of outrageous style at Cal. There’s a guy who dresses in head-to-toe purple, and there are a lot of girls who favor the Williamsburg look from two or three years ago (tights as pants, flannels, those lace up dance flats, bedhead), but there aren’t a lot of people taking big risks. Some of this may be a reflection of the blending of subcultures that’s taken for granted now. You can wear Nike Dunks with stovepipe jeans and work the counter at American Apparel; you can wear a cardigan with a dookie chain (or a skinnier version of one) and shop there. Indie rock and hip hop style sit comfortably side by side around here. Guys of all colors started strapping straight leg and skinny jeans down low, hip hop style, a couple of years ago. Girls of all shades wear doorknockers. I spend my weekdays immersed in a population of 18-22 year-olds, and they don’t dress to match their taste in music anymore because they listen to — and like — a little of everything. It’s not that I think we should be matchy-matchy with what we’re listening to (I’ve been listening to Rennaisance motets lately, and I’m not rocking doublets and hose), and I like the fashion mashups people are sporting, but I do wish people would be a little more individualistic, would stop worrying about what people will think and start dressing the way they feel. Even if I look a lot more conventional now, that’s what I still try to do. Now I wonder where my finger bone necklace went, because that would really elevate these damn jeans I keep putting on.