In my dreams, I have a closet full of beautiful high-heeled shoes, each pair a freestanding gem of exquisite ergonomic beauty that reaches the apex of its power only when on my feet, conveying me to the unveiling of my first book, an art-historical research endeavor that explores twentieth century feminism.

Sure, I’ll wait while you re-read that. Take your time, really, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. I’m a feminist. Yes, my goals are hefty, intellectual ones. But when I envision myself living my dreams, future-me is rocking a head-turning, quirky outfit. Can someone please tell me why those aspirations are incompatible?

My intellectual, book-ish side is an important part of my identity. Ever since I learned to read, I proudly wielded the power it gave me to pick up any piece of literature—be it of repute or of Buzzfeed—and learn. But, I’m often overlooked when I try to start a conversation about sartorial decisions with my more intellectual friends, as if the conversation were too frivolous to entertain.

Could it be that the values of fashion industry—which I find riveting—fly in the face of my values as a self-respecting woman? In the book “Women in Clothes,” hundreds of females of varying fame and fortune agree: It doesn’t always feel like “a good thing to talk about clothes…because people will have the impression…that [we’re] stupid, and [we] don’t have any other things in [our lives] to think of.”

But I’ve decided that I needn’t be any more secretive about poring over Vogue as my friend is when he’s reading his psychology textbook. Because if the point of SLS20 is to better understand how we communicate and relate to each other, he and I are covering the exact same material.

True, the idea of “clothes-shopping” carries with it negative connotations, mostly due to certain celebrities in Hollywood who will buy a million-dollar handbag rather than appropriating their money productively. But dressing isn’t always elitist or merely superficial. I’m with Leopoldine Core on this one, who, in an interview for “Women in Clothes,” said: “We are always asking for something when we get dressed. Asking to be loved…to be left alone, to make people laugh, to scare people, to look wealthy, to say I’m poor, I love myself.”

Clothing as language is an underexplored concept in the realm of politics, education, and business. And as fashion bloggers Jayne Min and Madeline Pendleton point out, no one is exempt from partaking in the conversation surrounding fashion, since it’s our public responsibility regardless of race, status, or gender.

So, let’s start talking!

It should be easy: Clothing is a rather effective tool for communicating, because the language is universal. Kendall Jenner, Hilary Clinton, and your mother all wear the same basic items. Everyone knows how to put on pants and who’s expected to wear a skirt. So even if you only have a basic level of cultural understanding about clothes, you can initiate important discussions simply by curating your wardrobe thoughtfully.

When Amelia Bloomer left caution to the wind and refused to wear her corset, instead opting to be incredibly subversive and wear pants, she empowered women everywhere to assert their right to comfortable dress and heralded a new phase of freedom for the feminists of her time.

More recently, when Lady GaGa stormed onto the set of the music industry wearing outlandish dresses made of meat, traveling in an egg-shaped pod, and cross-dressing on the red carpet, she captivated millions of consumers and eloquently communicated her wholehearted support of free self-expression more effectively than many of her peers.

Many underestimate the power that they wield as they stand before their closets undressed each morning. The fact is, taking advantage of your freedom to dress is as much an act of political uprightness as voting or participating in the Divest Harvard sit-in. You can rebuke dress codes or—if you’re really rebellious—repurpose your dresses as skirts. You have the power to support brands that respect your beliefs—like Stella McCartney, whose line is completely vegan—or withhold your business from conglomerates like Urban Outfitters that are imprudently racist, make light of mental illness, and irreverently reference troubling cultural phenomena.

Think of it this way: If you don’t care enough to give yourself more than a passing glance in the mirror, then how can you expect a prospective employer or lover to act any different? The best kind of person shouldn’t care what you look like as long as you’re happy with the way you look. But for some, it takes thirty minutes, five shirt changes, and a funky purse to fashion the desired effect. If, like me, you’re such a person, then I say unto you: Go forth unabashedly and, please, shop ‘til you drop.

Lily K. Calcagnini, ’18, is an Crimson editorial comper living in Matthews Hall.