I just need to talk about style for a moment. In D.C., the clothing people wear speaks for itself. Not only do you have to wear a suit and tie every day, but you have to wear a good suit and tie. The color of your shoes has to match the color of your belt and, if possible, your coat.

People judge you on your sense of style. If your colors are too subdued, you blend into the background. If your colors are a little too flamboyant, you are classified as a dandy. (People actually use this word — it was slightly shocking when I first heard it.) As an intern, if you dress too well, you seem too big for your britches. If you don’t dress well enough, you seem unprofessional.

I knew this. I had heard horror stories of people who were sent home because they were not professional enough or who missed out on meeting someone really interesting because they looked like they just woke up. You had to dress well because you never knew who you might meet in a given day. From members of Congress to business leaders to high-level bureaucrats, you had to be prepared at all times.

So I took this lesson to heart. There was one time early in the fall when I wore a beige suit, an orange-ish shirt and a beige, orange, and brown tie to match. I felt awesome. I walked around with a little grin on my face because I was so sure I had beaten the style system.

But, alas, I was doomed. I had worked too hard, and now I was going to face the consequences.

As I walked into the office that day, the Air Force fellow who sat near me came by with a smirk on his face.

“What are you wearing, Doshi?” he asked.

My morning grin paled a little. “My suit, what else?”

His grin started to rival my own. “What color is that shirt you’re wearing?” he asked.

I tried to laugh it off. I would just respond with a funny answer. “It’s a salmon-colored shirt. It’s not orange or anything,” I chuckled nervously.

The ends of his mouth reached mountainous heights. “Salmon?? Oh, Doshi, you have just earned yourself a call sign. From now on, we’ll call you Fish.”

And from mouth to mouth, from office to office, from think tank to the Pentagon, people the city over began to be introduced to me as “Fish.”

It got even better when I inadvertently described someone’s paper as “wonderful.” A perfectly acceptable adjective, as far as I’m concerned, but apparently a little too much for my office’s references. Then I didn’t just become “Fish,” which at least sounded cool in a slimy kind of way, but I became “Wonderful Fish,” which reminded me of that children’s book about a Rainbow Fish — not at all the image I was hoping to project while in D.C.

So all this has made me appreciate returning to our laid-back campus that much more. It was tough to let go, to be honest. I’ve spent the last two weeks wearing a button-up shirt almost every day. It’s a difficult addiction to get rid of.

But I am very proud of myself. Today I graduated to a vintage T-shirt. Tomorrow, perhaps even shorts, weather permitting. The possibilities are endless.

It is a long and winding road, but all of us formal clothing addicts can reach the ideal: torn jeans and a stained undershirt. My fellow Stanfordians, you too can become a trashy dresser. Do not be tempted by our sweater-vested and tucked-in colleagues. They will soon see the light. Join me, and we shall reach the promised land. Soon blacks and whites, short and tall, pimply and clear-skinned will join hands and say, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank JC Penney, we are free at last!”

Sagar and Michael Wilkerson co-write “The Lowly Interns.” Should you need fashion tips, you can contact either of them at sagarandmichael

@gmail.com, although the editor recommends contacting Sagar because Michael has not yet

admitted his addiction.