I can recognize an athlete anywhere. The big guy that sits in the corner of my Art History section? Athlete. That blonde girl in the third row of my English class? Athlete. And it’s not because they are necessarily freakishly tall or abnormally broad-shouldered — I can pick out the fencers and the javelin throwers too. It is because of the athlete outfit.

The athlete outfit can take on multiple forms, but these variations never deviate far from its fundamental elements. The outfit begins with a cardinal red T-shirt or sweatshirt, which always says ‘Stanford’ in large white letters and usually displays their own sport’s name, emblazoned across the bottom. (Let’s be honest, no one is a big enough Stanford Synchronized Swimming fan to buy and wear that shirt. If you’re wearing one, you’re on the team.) In lieu of the T-shirt or sweatshirt, occasionally there is also the red fleece pullover, or the reversible, red and black, waterproof, zip-up rain jacket. Since neither of these is sold at the Bookstore, or at least not to us laity until the following year, their distinction as gifts from the Athletic Department makes the wearers stand out from the flabby masses. The outfit continues with either heavy, red, ankle-zippered sweatpants (also not sold at the Bookstore) or perhaps even a pair of nondescript jeans, if that athlete was looking to dress the outfit up for the day. The ensemble is usually completed by a pair of grey athletic shoes with cardinal-red accents.

Now, I am not disparaging athletes or accusing them of being elitist. If I got free, nice stuff from the athletic department, I’d be wearing it too. As a general practice, however, to give one type of Stanford student clear and obvious markers of their group standing seems a bit strange. Join me, if you will, in a brief thought experiment.

What would it be like if any other subset of Stanford students wore distinctive, expensive clothing which no one else could buy and which was gifted to them by their department? Imagine with me an alternate Stanford where everyone with a 4.0 GPA or higher strolled around in free cashmere sweaters, embroidered with a special 4.0-Club insignia. Their freely-provided smart cardinal-red blazers, penny loafers and official khaki pants, all emblazoned with the “4.0-Club” seal, would lay bare to the world who was the creme-de-la-creme in the world of academia. The Music Department would give every concert-level musician a free tuxedo or sequined gown (depending on gender), to be worn at recitals. A white dress or tuxedo for home recitals and cardinal-red evening attire for performances at other schools would be the norm. The dance troupes would receive red leg warmers, Pointe shoes, leotards and warm-ups from the dance department, not to mention free elaborate dance costumes and props.

What about the most promising pre-meds? The best artists? Or a capella groups? What if the most beautiful people wore distinguishing clothing?

There are lots of ways to achieve excellence, and God knows there are talented people swarming this campus, but the recognition of this cornucopia of achievement is unequally afforded far too often. Although it boggles my mind to think of how someone can use a bendy stick to hurl themselves high in the air, it is equally befuddling to know how Joe “wearing what I can buy from the Bookstore” Shmoe has gotten an A+ in Organic Chemistry or mastered the violin or starred in Gaieties.

Admittedly, however, sports are fun to watch, and while I’ve paid a lot to see a basketball game, I’ve never heard the Stanford Wind Ensemble perform. Spectators mean money, money means funds and funds mean free, nice stuff from the Athletic Department. Taking into account my lack of hand-eye coordination and Olympian fitness level, I will just have to wait until Stanford fully appreciates the importance of non-athletic excellence and rewards it with free gear.

Meanwhile, I’ll be nursing my Athlete Outfit envy out of my Department of English Nalgene.

If you, too, haven’t received anything good and free from Stanford since your Admit Weekend shirt, e-mail Katie at kttaylor@stanford.edu to commiserate.