I could not have looked more casual yesterday.

I wore blue adidas pants, a T-shirt and a hooded Notre Dame sweatshirt and spent my day at the library and the basement of South Dining Hall.

I chose this outfit for me, to be laid back and not worry about looking good just to study and write this column. I did not choose it for any other reason than to be relaxed and comfortable.

As I procrastinated and watched "Felicity," my cheeks flushed with anger and my throat tickled with laughter. Was the topic of this episode really about how Felicity's sexy, red dress would win back Ben's affections? It sounded more like a campaign for the feminist movement than a prime-time teen drama.

For those of you who didn't see the show, I'll rehash the sadly realistic episode: Felicity loses Ben and thinks a little sleazy dress will win him back. As the female population crosses its fingers, Ben takes her back after seeing her in a slinky red dress. (Here's where the female population uncrossed its fingers and crossed its arms in protest.) Felicity soon realizes that she has done the wrong thing in saving her relationship and says that the way you dress "only changes the way you look, not the way you feel."

Well, amen, Felicity: welcome to reality — a place where black pants rule the nightlife and girls wear bikinis on the quad in 70-degree weather. It's here, in reality, where you'll also discover things like cotton and that no, it's not that hot outside.

I made a grave mistake earlier this year. I wore a great pair of dressy, black sandals to a party (Come on, girls, you know the ones I'm talking about: They've got straps that criss-cross, wind around your toes and look perfect with "going out" clothes). My idiocy (and possibly a little alcohol) led me to walk all the way to and from Turtle Creek in them. I could barely walk the next day.

As I tended to my foot wounds the next morning, a thought occurred to me — you're an idiot. I would've had just as much fun the night before and not torn my feet to shreds if I had worn Nikes. Style does not have to mean pain. It means confidence, coordination and charisma. Most of the time, high, cutesy black shoes add nothing more to a person's look than a few inches.

This doesn't mean that my friends and I don't like to "hooch out" every once in a while. We have our "black pants" nights — plush with the least comfortable shoes, most daring tops and darkest lipstick we can find. What we don't change is ourselves.

Our giggles don't raise an octave, our conversation doesn't wane. We are us — the same people in the adidas pants and sweatshirts on the second floor of the library on Sundays.

We all dress for success in some manner in our lives — the classy suit for the job interview, the blue chiffon number for your cousin's wedding and yes, the pair of black pants for courting rituals at Notre Dame. What most of us fail to realize is that we already own the most essential piece of our wardrobe to success — a personality.

So black-pants brigade, listen up: wear jeans once in a while. It's okay, you'll still flirt, you'll still be cute, you'll still be you. Just comfortably.

You don't have to be ashamed if there's no lycra in your life. Wear that cotton with pride.

• Prideful Cotton