When I left Alabama for college in the Northeast, I was wearing the most neutral of disguises. My wardrobe consisted of tops and miniskirts belonging to the girl-next-door aesthetic, found at mall stores like the Limited and Gap. I unintentionally had a characterless accent—a vaguely coastal one possibly born from the dissonance between the Southern drawls of my friends and the Nigerian accents of my parents. My high school summer job had been at American Eagle, which I abandoned as soon as I landed a gig at the sexier Express. I was one of only a few people leaving my high school in Montgomery to go to college, at Princeton, and I was a little uneasy: I wondered what people up north liked to read and talk about; what they did for fun; and especially, what they would be wearing. In an envi

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