How to Get Boys to Look at You Without Really Trying

If you’re a girl in college, you probably know what it’s like going out in public looking like shit. Midterms are approaching and all of your excess time is devoted to studying. You don’t have time to properly occlude all of the stress-induced hives that you’ve recently developed after writing that 8-page research paper with thick layers of foundation and eyeliner. You likely landed a lecture that takes place at some horribly inconvenient hour after barely surviving the sudden death battle royale that is course registration. In fact, you may just be avoiding looking presentable all together out of spite. Because your college hates you and doesn’t want you to learn anything and wants to plunder you of your tuition money for more years than it really should take to graduate.

Or maybe none of that applies to you because you listened to your parents and did well in high school and didn’t end up at some third-rate college in the ghetto like I did.

But whatever your circumstance, be it as constant and unlucky as mine or completely incidental, you’ve probably been underdressed in public before.

So what do you do when you’re looking particularly hideous one morning but you still want to be noticed in a positive light by potential suitors? Well I happen to have a groundbreaking anecdote that may just help you resolve that sort of incredible egotism.

I’m not particularly tolerant to overly warm temperatures. As a matter of fact, anything above 80 degrees Fahrenheit is liable to have me as inclined to burst into flames as volatile swamp gas. Being that my college campus resides in the stagnant heat of a southern California valley and that I stubbornly commute to school in a poorly air-conditioned SUV for a good 40 minutes as opposed to simply dorming, I, one day around a month ago, accidentally subjected myself to weather conditions for which I had no means of adaptation.

It was a Wednesday and I was late. I was also fairly delirious from many consecutive nights without sleep. And to top it all off, it was hot as fuck outside. As I stumbled about campus in my drowsy super-heated stupor, I passed several glass windows that rendered dull images of my reflection. My worn consciousness began to lethargically piece together that on this particular day, I looked like a complete ass-hat. I hadn’t had the time that morning to clean myself up because I was preoccupied with putting the last touches on a research paper that I had already spent all night writing. My hair was tangled and shoved into a beanie, my ‘clothes’ were actually the pajama pants and camisole that I would have slept in if I had been more responsible and wrote my essay earlier in the week and at that point, while I was sweating acrid buckets in the godforsaken heat of the valley, I could have easily been mistaken for one of the homeless people I often found sleeping in the bathrooms on campus. Had my trip to the lecture hall been somewhat longer, I probably would have noticed the most eccentric thing about attire that day, but it wasn’t and I was already bumbling around aisles looking for a seat, just as the professor began going over new material.

It was then that I began to relax somewhat. I allowed the air conditioning of the lecture hall to encompass my sweat drenched body and soothe the tension that had been building in my head. Although still sleep deprived, I was at least no longer on the verge of a heat stroke and I was able to begin think properly and take notes. As the lecture wore on, there came a point at which my right shoulder began to itch. It was likely due to the frayed ends of my uncombed hair tickling it a bit, so I extended my left arm to brush the hair out of the way and scratch the itch while I kept my eyes on the power-point presentation.

And that’s when I felt it.

My blood ran cold.

Adrenaline shot down my spine.

Any ounce of calm that I had gained by sitting in that air-conditioned room became plague insects fluttering around incessantly in my gut.

All dullness in my consciousness from lack of sleep was replaced by a panicked alertness.

When I had reached over to scratch my shoulder, my forearm grazed what it definitely should not have grazed under normal circumstances:

My right nipple was having a little vacation from my camisole for all those of the adjacent aisle to behold.

“Christ almighty” I thought. “I forgot to put on a fucking bra this morning”

And that is how you get boys to pay attention to you when you look like garbage.