Last month, most of Princeton’s eating clubs eliminated nudity from their initiations festivities. The club graduate boards, composed largely of aging men, probably dressed in long robes, decided that nudity is not in fact an unalienable right, but rather a nuisance and a liability.
When Taylor Swift pranced onto the stage dressed in a white circus ringmaster’s costume at the most recent Grammy Awards, I thought fleetingly that perhaps this girl was not Swift, but rather Britney Spears performing an homage to her 2008 album Circus. This fantasy was quickly quashed as the first twangs of “We Are Never Getting Back Together” filled the auditorium.
When the Body Combat instructor pushed to the front of the crowd and introduced herself, I could not help but be reminded of a bygone era. Her thick pink headband, stretch pants, and neon athletic top made her seem as if she had just arrived in a time machine from an 80s aerobics class. Of course, I have never experienced the 80s for myself, so I cannot be sure that all aerobics instructors wore such tight, shiny fabric, but the movies of the time seem to indicate they did.
