Nips Navs*

It was a cold November day, and another fall sports season had passed, my final one as a Hilltopper. That night was the semiannual sports awards ceremony, an opportunity to showcase one's stellar accomplishments in the competitive arena to the entirety of the Chardon High School athletic community. The most important part of this ceremony - the outfit. As a strong candidate in the senior best-dressed preliminaries, I had a reputation to continually cultivate, and this decision was not one to be taken lightly.

Unfortunately, my appearance was having an unusually rough day. My hair was falling haphazardly, and I had a large zit on my left cheek resembling a small volcano. As any competitor knows, one cannot cower in the face of such adversity. Following my afternoon workout, I showered and surveyed my options for the evening. I had plenty of short skirts and fancy dresses, but my theme for the evening was simple, classy, sophisticated. I chose an asymmetrical black skirt that hit beneath the knees, lined tastefully with glitter. I paired it with a shimmery, light blue cowl-neck top and black boots. In order to combat my unruly hair, I finished the look with a flowered clip. The outfit covered approximately 87% of my body while subtly calling the attention of spectators.

There was but one problem. The shirt was a bit tight, and the lines of a bra could be seen. After standing in front of my mirror for two minutes, I decided it best to go without. After all, the school gymnasium was always stifling so I would not have to worry about potential hardening, and it would be embarrassing to stand in front of hundreds of people with my bra line apparent to all. I strutted out the door in my pink and gold coat, certain my outfit would proclaim, "This young lady's athletic prowess is matched only by her style."

For some reason, even though you spent every day with these peers, the awards ceremony was a big deal. Athletes, usually dawning jeans and a t-shirt were instead wearing suits, dresses, and the occasional pant suit (a fashion trend which I will never embrace). Because they fell short of the playoffs and did not have practice that night, even the football players were able to grace us with their presence, looking exceptional as always. Rather than sweat, the gymnasium smelled of cologne and perfume. Proud parents and siblings filled the upper tiers of the bleachers, and as I walked to a seat amongst my teammates, I realized the side door had been opened to encourage air circulation. Hoping this would not be problematic, I did not remove my coat, and the ceremony began.

As I listened to the athletic director pontificate over the importance of athletics and the fortitude we all exemplified, I realized the cold was penetrating my coat. Indeed, it was spreading throughout my body; I had goose bumps, and there was one part of my body which was a cause for particular concern - my nipples. I did not have much time to worry as it was time for the first set of awards, honoring four year varsity letter winners. I certainly could not walk down with my coat on, so I removed it, walked confidently to the podium, received my award, and took my place next to the other lettermen, attempting to hide the offensive display. The massive zit on my face was the least of my worries, and I do not believe "classy", "subtle", or "sophisticated" were anywhere in the audience's minds. We were able to return to our seats, and having a resilient personality familiar with utter humiliation, I was only mildly mortified.

Realizing this problem was not going to subside on its own, I did what I could. I began rubbing as discreetly as possible, attempting to warm the area and alleviate the hardening. In retrospect, this may have been counterproductive, since the rubbing was also stimulating said area. Regardless, the hardening remained. And so my name was called again - for first team all conference, for sportsmanship, for conference MVP (an award my overzealous coach had simply created, and I desperately wish she had not). Finally, the night was over.

My mom casually mentioned the fashion faux pas, but the subject was left at that - until the following day. Fifth period, I entered the cafeteria to be greeted by a host of football players shouting, "What's up, Nips Navs?" I forget my response, although I can imagine the hue of my face was a bit redder than usual, and I probably laughed, because there is nothing else to do in such situations. Comments were made by young gentlemen that I will refrain from posting to avoid offending the readership. My mother bemoaned the fact that this happened despite her parenting. My brother-in-law informed me a fellow coach had declared, "If I ever let my daughter walk out of the house like that, slap me" upon seeing me. The spectacle was immortalized through parents' home videos. And I still occasionally answer to the nickname Nips Navs at a local bar.

Why am I writing about this, over five years later? It is a cold December day, and the company Christmas party is this evening. It is an opportunity to peak through the window of co-worker's lives outside of the office. As I will not have a gorgeous gentleman adorning my arm and have recently attempted to reestablish my reputation of best dressed, the most important aspect of this evening - the outfit. This morning, I looked in my closet to find an outfit representing the epitome of sophistication. One option was a hand-me-down dress from my chic sister. I tried it on and realized that a bra would not work well as the dress would not fully cover it. I stood in front of mirror for two minutes, contemplating possible routes my evening wear could take. Then I took the dress off and moved on to my next option. Everyone, I am maturing.

*I apologize for the title, but I promise it is appropriate. And it probably caught your attention.