A Breakdown Of Your Mental Breakdown On Composite Day

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Composite picture day: it’s probably the most dreaded and anticipated day for every sorority girl. Somehow, after three years of college, you’ve still managed to use your freshman picture every year in order to avoid the stress of taking a new photo. However, this year is different. You’re a senior, and you need a picture that actually makes you look like you’re not an awkward freshman. Plus, the only reason you took that executive board position was to be at the top of the composite, so you better look damn good.

They announce in chapter that composite picture day is going to be next Wednesday. You don’t write it down, because how could you forget something this important? Wednesday rolls around and guess what? You forgot. A “curly or straight hair today?” text from a sister reminds you about it mid-lecture, and you immediately get up and walk out of your class. Her text now has you panicking–curly or straight?! Luckily, it’s only noon and you have three hours until your picture. That should be just enough time to curl half of your hair and straighten the other half before deciding.

Straight. Definitely straight. You get out of a hot, steamy shower and notice the slightest appearance of a zit. You put on some concealer (too much concealer), so you cover it with bronzer (too much bronzer, but who the hell schedules composites for February anyway?). You pat yourself on the back for remembering to wear a tank so it is easy to pull the sleeves down when you wear that black shawl the photographers have forced on you since senior portraits in high school.

T-minus 30 minutes until your scheduled time. You get ready to book it across campus but barely make it out the door because Mother Nature decided to water the earth today…on composite day. Selfish bitch. Where on Earth does it go from being perfectly sunny to torrential downpour? On your campus, on composite day. That’s where.

You grab an umbrella, book it across campus, and arrive at the computer science building just in time. The photographer must be late. How dare he show up late when you made it there right on time? Wait. You call your roommate in a hurry to make sure you are in the right building. Guess what? You’re not. The photographer decided he liked the lighting in a different building. Naturally.

After arriving in the right building–which happened to be all the way across campus–you tell the photographer your name and sit on the wooden stool in front of lighting that probably makes your zit covered in bronzer visible.

“Chin up and tilt your head to the left,” says the photographer.

“What? No. I look better with my chin down thank you,” you think.

He puts the black shawl on you and pulls it down at the center–a little too far for your opinion, considering your cleavage is now fully visible. This 50-year-old man with a missing tooth is now taking photos of you and making comments like, “There it is, sweetie,” and “Oh yeah.” Ugh. Is this almost over?

You fill out the paperwork, make sure your name is spelled correctly, and go over to view your final proofs. He hands you your photos and asks you to choose your favorite. Favorite? One of them makes you look like an oompa-loompa and your eyes are shut in the other. Is it possible to use an Instagram filter? No? Fine. I guess I’ll just pay the $5 and use the same one from freshman year, dammit.

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