The university lifestyle is infamously weighted more towards partying and enjoyment than, say, cleanliness.
But even given this, can a student really wear the same clothes for five days in a row and get away with it?
Lifestyle challenged me to do just that. Here’s what happened what I volunteered myself.
Day One: Wednesday
Now, to wear an outfit for a whole week requires a lot of forward thinking- what could I wear that would be passable for the week’s clubbing, yet not get me too many odd looks in lectures?
I settle for a jumper and jeans combo, and set about my daily tasks.
The only remark I get is from a flatmate, asking if my jumper was new- I had in fact worn it out every week in my first semester, so I lost all hope of being able to get some comments from her as my week progresses- how wrong I was.
I go for coffee with a friend, and tell her about my plan. She nods, bemused, and the conversation moves on.
As we leave, she hugs me, and tells me not to expect another one for the rest of the week.
A quiet night in with a friend transforms into a not so quiet night in with my flatmates, with much wine being quaffed- and a little of it down my jumper.
Aside from that, the outfit is still serviceable for the next day.
Day Two: Thursday
Today was a very busy day. In between my lectures, I tore up and down West Street doing various chores- not a good idea in a thick winter coat.
By the time I get home, a light sweat has permeated my jumper, but a quick blitz of deodorant and I am ready for the evening.
The cooking smells of my evening curry adds an interesting note to my fragrance, and, four bottles of wine later, I fall asleep fully clothed.
Day Three: Friday
I awake to find my outfit strewn around my already quite messy room, having kicked most of it off during the night.
Dreading putting it back on, but with an 11 o’clock lecture looming, I bite the bullet and continue my week long ‘walk of shame’.
For some unimaginable reason, I command a whole row of the lecture theatre to myself, and catch some of my more well groomed peers studying me intently.
I have an early night, not really due to tiredness, but because of the allure of my relatively clean pyjamas.
Day Four: Saturday
Pulling on my outfit again, I start cleaning the flat, ready for the arrival of a group of friends.
A mountain of washing up awaits me, and soon a thin patina of soap scum and grease is lining my jeans and sleeves.
Sitting down to take a break, my flatmate comments, again, that she likes my jumper, and asks me if it is new.
Suddenly, she realises that I have been wearing the same outfit since Wednesday, and with an indignant cry of “Oh my God! Jack, you skank!” she moves away from me.
Day Five: Sunday
The day begins at 12pm, and Carnage is calling.
I trudge down to collect my t-shirt and earn myself an odd look from the ticket collector, as he eyes up the various stains that have collected on my jumper.
Another few hours pass in search of cheap alcohol and cheap food, and I have left a trail of disapproving glances and haughty tuts across Sheffield, and so gladly return home.
Finally, I take off my clothes and leave the decision as to whether to wash the outfit or simply burn it, until after Carnage.
So what is the moral of this tale?
Can you just roll out of bed every morning bearing the scars of the night before, and get away with it? Simply put, no.
As the week progressed, I slowly began to realise that no matter how close your relationships with your fellow students are, you are really only bound together with soapsuds and deodorant.