Picture this: It’s 11 a.m. on a Sunday and you’ve just woken up. You’re hungover. Shouldn’t have drunk that fifth White Claw last night. You scroll on TikTok for a bit before finally getting up, your grumbling stomach propelling you forward. Your ears perk up, tuned into the siren song of a Deece omelet. You throw open your closet doors, and a world of possibility awaits you. Should you wear your beaded skirt? Your patterned sweater? Dare you wear your denim capris? Pish posh. You reach for your softest jeans with a big hole in the crotch and your most oversized sweatshirt with a mysterious stain. It’s Chopped Sunday, bitch.
The term “Chopped Sunday” was coined by my dear friend and roommate, Haley Brown ’27. Haley firmly believes that a person should look their worst on Sunday, and she’s convinced me, too. We stumble out of our suite every Sunday morning, wearing things that Monday-through-Saturday Josie and Haley would cringe at. Sunday is not the day to wear your cutest outfit. It’s not the time for dresses, button-downs or fancy boots. Sunday is for slobs. Sunday is for T-shirts you’re almost ashamed to wear out in public. Sunday is a day to look chopped.
As per Urban Dictionary, “chopped” means “the fugliest, nastiest, most disgusting of them all.” What a word. Sunday, of course, is the Lord’s day. A nun could probably spin Chopped Sunday as a way to honor God by shedding vanity, looking pious, humble and, of course, chopped. I prefer to think of it differently. I only have so much fashion brainpower in me. It takes a lot to stun six days a week. Chopped Sunday allows me a day of rest and recovery, a day to conserve my style energy and save the good stuff for my most active days. It’s not like I’d ever have a Chopped Monday.
Some people do not yet believe in the Chopped Sunday gospel. I’ve seen people in heels in the Deece on Sundays. I’ve seen people strolling around with skirts over jeans. I’ve seen TIGHTS, for God’s sake. Tights. On a Sunday! Blasphemous. Sunday is for rest and relaxation. Sunday is for lying on your couch and watching “How I Met Your Mother” with your roommates. Sunday is for chopped.
Chopped Sunday is not necessarily about physical appearances. It’s more of a state of mind. Your Sunday outfits should be your lowest-effort looks, and those often happen to be your worst ones. Haley and I have been spreading the chopped word to our friends, and we’ve converted one of our other roommates, Maria Milovanovic ’27, to our chopped ways. Maria is a certified fashion icon (style director for Contrast magazine), so her Chopped Sunday outfits are usually adorable matching tracksuits, but still. Chopped in spirit if not in looks.
Count how many times I said “chopped” in this article, and that’s how many Chopped Sundays you have to make up this year. See you out there, my chopped comrades.