In early October, I finally took the plunge. Instead of heading directly up the escalator to the third floor of the Coop for an overpriced textbook or to the second floor for dorm furniture—as I had always done in the past—I lingered by the entrance. For the first time, I dug through a pile of crimson hoodies, each labeled with “HARVARD” across its front, in search of a size small.

At colleges across the country, hordes of students advertise their school pride on a daily basis: Cal sweatpants litter the Berkeley campus, Chicago beanies protect a multitude of ears against infamous wind-chill, and “Uptown Girl: Barnard College” tees saunter down many a Manhattan avenue.

But in Harvard’s case, such sartorial displays of school spirit are less widespread, and seem so much more complicated. An article in The Crimson once stated that people “don’t wear Harvard t-shirts unless they got them for free.” Harvard students’ hesitation to serve as walking billboards for their alma mater is understandable; at the very least, our brand may lead passersby to raise their eyebrows.

I, for one, admit to spending much of my time back home attempting to hide my college’s identity. When my dad dropped the H-bomb at a doctor’s office, I refused to speak with him for the entire car ride home. Many students choose to avoid “Veritas apparel” because they see wearing it—just like admitting you go to Harvard—as an awkward and arrogant display.

But frequently, this anxiety is rooted in false modesty. I’ve heard many classmates imply they were sparing the feelings of less fortunate individuals who were not admitted to Ivy League institutions by refusing to sport a shirt emblazoned with that big red “H.” For some, this decision stems from a genuine feeling of academic superiority; for others, just a hyperactive concern for what other people might think. Either way, creating such melodrama around a simple choice of wardrobe actually perpetuates Harvard’s reputation for self-obsession and arrogance instead of diminishing it. In reality, a Harvard hoodie signifies only two things about the wearer: she attends Harvard and intends to keep warm.

Some steer clear of the Coop’s apparel section because their relationship with Harvard isn’t as simple as a “Go Crimson!” headband would imply. Few undergrads I’ve spoken with gave a “yes” or “no” answer when asked if they “like” Harvard. My own views vacillate as often as the weather changes here, depending on my stress level, lack of sleep, and (dis)satisfaction with my latest Harvard University Dining Services meal.

Maybe the jaded attitude that predominates much of campus stems from the nature of our student body: a group highly trained in close analysis. While critical thinking may be an asset for philosophy papers and biology exams, outside of class it can generate a constant stream of nitpicking complaints.

But whether or not you feel comfortable declaring unconditional love for this university, we are all undeniably lucky to be here. Why not give voice to some gratitude and community spirit—maybe in the form of a headband or beanie—even if your Harvard experience has been less than perfect?

Ultimately, we have a right to feel proud of, and attached to, the institution we attend, just like students at Cal, Northwestern, or Dartmouth. Though we shouldn’t flaunt our college enrollment, we certainly need not go to manic lengths to hide it. So consider investing in a simple Harvard hoodie—it’s a way to show campus pride without coming off as condescending. They’re cozy, and crimson just happens to be a flattering color.