Appearances matter--and mostly due to wardrobe. "Pretty" or "plain," "skinny" or "plump," changing how one dresses will do much to radically shape the reactions of others.

As a Muslim. Sameera Fazili '00 wears a head scarf called a hijab. She explains, "People have a lot of preconceived notions about what a Muslim is supposed to be like--especially a Muslim woman. They assume I'm going to be either quiet and subservient or violent and terrorist....In airports, they check my bags three times over. Even when the metal detector doesn't beep when I go through it, they scan me."

At the other extreme, girls who wear revealing attire often face judgment from their peers. Lanhee J. Chen '00 comments, "[People's clothes] might say something about their preferences for how they dress, but you should not pass judgment on them. You can't automatically say because the girl dresses provocatively that she's a slut or anything." It seems many people would agree, at least in casual conversation.

But what about in practice? One day, I wore a skimpy outfit; the next, I wore an especially modest one. Decide for yourself if Harvard is immune to the obsession over appearance. A Day in the Life of an Upscale Whore

Noon, Winthrop G-45

I wake up late with a sinking feeling in my stomach. The night before, my roommates Ashika and Anna helped me pull together a sufficiently skimpy outfit: a tight, ice-blue spandex camisole with an equally binding short black skirt and strappy high-heeled shoes. The combination wouldn't be so bad--if it didn't make me feel naked.

1 p.m., Winthrop House

As I teeter down the stairs, I pass one of my male neighbors and brace myself for his reaction. But he only grins "Hello" and then averts his eyes. I know I have the body of a 12 year old boy, but shouldn't skimpy clothes cause more of a reaction than that?

I'm glad he's not a lecher, though I'm somewhat disappointed--more than I should be. I decide not to brave the dining hall yet, since one a bite of food might rip this camisole rip wide open.

1:05 p.m., Mill Street, then Holyoke Street to Holworthy basement

Out on the street, I straighten my back, hoping to disguise imperfections that this outfit does nothing to hide. Slut clothes are bad for the nerves, but good for posture. I click-clack my way into the UC office to pick up posters. Good lord, the Vice President and Campus Life Committee Chair are schmoozing on the couch--will they ever think of me the same way again? I hide behind some boxes and mutter a hello. These shoes are killing me.

1:25 p.m., Eliot House

On my way to poster in Eliot, I cross Mount Auburn Street. Amazingly, the cars stop in line to let me cross. When I reach the Eliot breezeway, a staff worker buzzes it open for me before my hand even reaches for the doorknob.

On my way out, I open the door for a girl dressed in a frumpy sweatshirt and jeans. She's frantically banging on the door, trying to get someone's attention. She thanks me with so much gratitude that I know she's been waiting for some time. I look back at the window and see the shadow of the staff worker, still within the office. Maybe he just didn't see her?

1:30 p.m., Kirkland House Dining Hall