Ever since the frat prez instituted his new dress code, nearly Pierce's entire wardrobe was off limits. No longer could he go straight from the gym to class to chapter without changing. Not without a write up or some stupid disciplinary action. He didn't want to get kicked out of the frat—life with his bros was the best thing that ever happened to him—but c'mon dude these new rules were jacked up man.

Pierce had always been a bit of class clown, but he never thought he'd be caught dead dressed like this. After weeks of wearing the same outfit, a white ocbd tucked into khakis, he felt something inside him snap. He'd wear anything to feel a shred of individuality. Anything. So, he put together the craziest outfit he could whip up from the men's racks at the thrift, just for the hell of it. And he went to hell alright.

If you think about it though bro, his whole look's up to code. It's got a collared shirt, check. Tucked in with a fuckin sick belt, check. No jeans or gym shorts. Leather shoes. Shit, he even threw on a tie for one more splash of clashing color, so he's actually even more dressed up than the minimum required. What could the prez have grounds to get pissed about dude? Just wait till the bros get a look at this. Hilarious.

Little did he know, he was about to send a wave rippling through the frat. A wave of pastels and patterns, garish belts and ties, past the absolute upward limit of good taste into the zany fringes of preppy style, each bro trying to outdo the next in a game of sartorial one-upmanship that would make Sigma Nu's members immediately recognizable on sight from across the quad, in any class, all the parties and bars...

SOOO IM UNSTOPPABLE W MY MARKERS NOW AND BEHOLD MADRAS THE PRIESTESS