Happy holiday season, one and all.

If you’re like me, it’s the time of the year for Ubers to RDU and back, time to deal with the fatal “It’s busy, fares are a lot higher than usual” notification and then the ludicrous Breeze Airways in-flight drink prices. You may be consumed by the thought of finals or scripting how to cope with the relentless conspiracy theories your great-uncle spouted at Thanksgiving that will inevitably be recycled in December. (Family holidays in the wake of a highly polarized election ain’t for the weak, folks.) May I draw your attention to a far less looming inquiry? What do you wear to the airport?

Many of you favor Duke merchandise, and that’s only natural. It’s usually pretty comfortable (sweats), and people have been sporting college merchandise since its invention. Even before that, they probably wore some form of merchandise, possibly a nifty lapel pin or something analogously fashionable for the 1800s. So, it’s no big deal if you do, except that you may face accusations of perniciously propagating classism.

There’s not much outright accusation around this issue except as commentary: The hyper-specific subject of Duke merchandise at the airport seems to crop up on the Duke server of the social media app Fizz in occasional, surefire intervals. A quick search discovers posts such as a meme reading “I’M BETTER THAN YOU, AND YOU KNOW IT” captioned “me wearing my duke merch at the airport,” and the question, “Who will be wearing duke merch to the airport to flex” adorned with 1.9k upvotes. Whether these posts are poking fun at the people who wear Duke merchandise or are, rather, self-satirizations is unclear. The item of certainty is that in the minds of many, wearing Duke merchandise to the airport is a consciously-made choice.

The apparent motivation is to perform a subtly classist flex, showing others that you aren’t in the Triangle for any old reason; you’re a Duke student, part of a special group with a place of privilege in North Carolina. If not outright classism, maybe it’s a desire for intellectual superiority over other young travelers who may go to lower-ranked schools. Or, again, maybe it’s simply because Duke merchandise is comfortable for traveling. Yet, I’m not entirely convinced it’s that simple, nor are the 1.9k students who upvoted that Fizz post. They agree on some level that a positive correlation exists between wearing Duke merchandise and flexing.

I decided to shop for real-life (i.e., non-Fizz) opinions. A fellow sophomore believed students wore Duke merch to the airport because it’s a statement that they associate with Duke over other “lesser” universities in the area. To her, it’s a way to show that they are specifically in Durham for Duke. It’s a method of proving you’re “better” than others; it’s a status thing.

Another sophomore contended it wasn’t that deep. She reported that she would wear Duke merchandise to the airport just because most of her sweats are Duke merchandise. She also mentioned that wearing merchandise helps identify fellow Duke students to Uber-share with back to campus — although she had only done this once.

It’s not like you must be a Duke student to wear Duke merchandise. However, wearing it to such a public place as the airport may be the most outward way to communicate your status short of flashing your Student ID at transients. A primary source of plausible deniability is that you could be just a Duke fan, as plenty of people, especially in the Triangle, love Duke teams without associating with the university itself.

Tangentially, I spoke with a professor who had a similar discussion with his class and reported that they agreed that anyone could technically wear Duke merchandise, which is not the case for Harvard merchandise. He didn’t outwardly state why they made this distinction, but it’s pretty clear it concerns Duke sports. It’s totally rational to be a Duke (basketball) fan from any location or station in the country; it’s a legendary program. That’s not the same for Harvard teams. (Apologies if you’re a Harvard sports fan, but I just don’t believe you.)

Duke merchandise exists in some weird semi-contradictory gray area. Most of us agree that anyone with an ounce of Duke fandom can wear it, but we simultaneously believe that by wearing it, we communicate our status as part of this privileged student class. In a sense, we’re performing the role of an extraordinary person on a very public stage and hoping our observers will buy the act. We try to differentiate ourselves from charlatans and imposters who are only in it for our basketball team and to whom this special status is inaccessible. It may be a subtle flex of classism, and if not strictly economic classism, then social or intellectual classism. However, the key is that this classism must feel authentic. The role of a Duke student is one that we hope others will believe we earned and not simply bought off the rack. Merchandise is a powerful uniform if worn convincingly.

It’s okay to admit we enjoy the boost in status being a Duke student gives us. At our most innocent, we express pride in belonging to a meaningful community and receiving a transformative education. However, we must be wary of the inimical classism that can infiltrate this pride. Fighting socioeconomic inequality begins when we question what small choices — like wearing Duke merchandise — mean to us and ponder the deeper-rooted motivations at play. We don’t have to become neurotic about such myopic things, but, hey, you’ll need something to think about to distract you from the conversation when your cousin whines about all the women turning to celibacy in the wake of the Trump victory.

Cara Eaton is a Trinity sophomore.