We wear what we want....because we're Masters

I graduated today.

Officially, I am a master. Ridiculous, I know. And because of the steady stream of exhibitions, gatherings, departmental functions, university ceremonies, I'm quite content at this point to know that all of the hubbub is over and I can begin the life that lies beyond graduate school.

Today's ceremony, specific to the School of Art at the University of Washington, was similar to most other college graduation ceremonies I have been to; a handful of speeches from distinguished folks, a longwinded speech from our not-so-charismatic director, a long list of names being read, etc. I wore no cap and gown. None of us grads did. Clearly, the sentiment of my peers and I was that we did not have to wear such a charming set of duds more than once in our life. Once as undergrads was enough. And since this was a departmental ceremony and not for the larger university, the pressure to be seen in proper academic garb was less.

As I left my apartment and walked to the event, I was reminded of the popular quest to customize your cap and gown for the sake of such a special day. Heaven forbid mom and dad (and the rest of the world) not know exactly which one you are in the crowd of black tassled squares. As an undergraduate I opted for tasteful tone on tone ornamentation on my thirty dollar rig, completely trimming the set in one inch black sequined tape. Oh...and I also made the gown a bit slimmer and shorter. But for an update in my degree, I considered an update in wardrobe. I pondered making use of this red cocoon I had crafted in winter. It had all the makings of academic gear (floppy and cumbersome velvet, satin detailing, guaranteed warmth, potential to initiate tripping, etc) perhaps with an even more unreasonable and impractical design. I would had worn it if I could have guaranteed my instructors would have been willing to put my degree in my mouth as I crossed the stage, given the piece is without arm holes.

In hindsight, I realize this all paled in comparison to the giant inflatable pink flamingo that I encountered atop the mortarboard of an otherwise modest looking undergraduate woman on her way to Husky Stadium.