Damian stood before the committee, proud, bold.
The committee stared back, clearly unappreciative of his style. Sandra frowned, Mark looked grim, and Gabrielle was clearly trying hard not to laugh.
Damian didn’t know why they were so struck, so unable to handle his brilliant style, his skillful adoption of colours and patterns. He had chosen the brightest neons, the most beautiful of pastels, and a just a few gold and silver accents to really make his appearance pop.
“Damian,” Sandra said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow you to represent our faculty if you’re going to dress like that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you want us to show a little style?”
“Style yes. But we want to attract students, not frighten them. You’re declined.”
Damian sighed and left the room. Another year he wouldn’t join the recruitment team.