I was browsing newsstands the other day looking to supplement my fix of The New York Times, Sports Illustrated, and the final issue of Y: The Last Man when my eyes happened across a glorious sight. The February issue of Vanity Fair sported a cover adorned by Harrison Ford wearing a classic fedora hat, brown leather jacket, and a bullwhip.

The cover loudly proclaimed, “INDY'S BACK!” and I immediately picked it up. After growing up on a steady supply of Star Wars and Indiana Jones, I was ready for Harrison Ford's next adventure as the in-over-his-head professor and archeologist. I bought the magazine and headed home, my journey for nighttime reading successful. I settled in and, with a madman's fervor, began to dive into the magazine.

Slowly, page by page, my enthusiasm lessened. It wasn't until page 58 that I found the first article, a less-than-satisfying letter from the editor. The real first article of the magazine did not begin until page 96. While the Indiana Jones article was satisfying, albeit brief, the rest of the magazine was filled with failed attempts at political humor and essays on spoiled, wealthy, European royalty.

It was then I came to a grim realization. Vanity Fair isn't about the articles, but rather the hundreds of pages of advertisements. To get to the articles in the magazine I was forced to flip through page after page of designer ads flouting pictures of half-dressed celebrities sporting either ball gowns or underwear.

You might think I'm being a bit over the top here, but let me take you on a little walk through the beginning of this magazine. When you open it up you are immediately assaulted by ads for Emporio Armani, Estée Lauder, Gucci, Christian Dior, Saks Fifth Avenue, Louis Vuitton, and Prada. It continues unhindered like this for more than 20 pages before you finally come across the table of contents. The barrage of ads then continues in the vain hope that one of them will rise above the rest and convince you to spend absurd amounts of money on perfume or clothing.

Reading this issue of Vanity Fair reminded me of a similar experience last semester. I had just attended a panel run by Career Services entitled “Major In What You Love.” After the panel I was psyched for my Cinema Studies major, which would allow me to be happy the rest of my life even if I was waiting tables in L.A. hoping someone would discover my overlooked screenplays.

Then I took a trip to King of Prussia mall.

It was somewhere between Lacoste and Burberry (So around Cartier, Tiffany's, Armani Exchange, and Hugo Boss) that I realized I couldn't live that sort of life to be happy. Instead of majoring in Cinema Studies I had to switch to Wharton - no, to a dual-degree program. It would be a dual degree of Political Science and Business. With a minor in Legal Studies. Then, when I make six-figures my first year out of an Ivy League law school, I can return to King of Prussia and spend the four-thousand dollars needed to buy that one coat that I didn't even like that much.

But you don't even need to travel all the way to King of Prussia to come to the same conclusion that I did. A trip down Walnut St. will suffice. In the course of a simple afternoon, one could easily spend hundreds of dollars after stops in Starbucks, Gap, Barnes & Noble, and American Apparel on the way to or from classes.

The saddest part of all of this is that even in a piece deriding the abundance of advertising and brand labels in every aspect of our lives at Penn, I still couldn't help but drop brand names left and right throughout the article. I make fun of Vanity Fair for front-loading the magazine with ads, while at the same time I name drop brands all through my first sentence.

I guess what this article ended up being about wasn't my experience with Vanity Fair, which I'll never repeat, but rather a brand-name lifestyle. It has permeated our society so deeply that it has become impossible to escape. In 1997, over 200 billion dollars were spent on advertising. It is because of this that now, when you buy a shirt with a Nike swoosh or a Lacoste alligator on it, you are not only buying a piece of clothing but also a lifestyle. We are all living it now. That's why we're at Penn, why your neighbor is in Wharton, and why you are going to law school.

It is with this in mind that I urge you: fight against brands. Ignore the advertisements, the slow movement of your hand being drawn to your wallet, and the smug Wharton student who lives in the dorm room next to yours. Major in what you love and get your medium-wage job regardless of what post-undergraduate education anyone else thinks you should get.

Either that or go to law school. After all, that's my plan.