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She was called down to the principal’s office and told to cover up after a teacher complained about her short top. She missed the rest of class because she had a lengthy discussion with principal Rob MacKinnon.

“I told him I had a lineup of outfits planned out because this was my birthday week,” said Halket, 18.

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I am young enough to have some sympathy for these high schoolers — mostly girls — who just want to wear what they want to school without reproach. Indeed, I can still channel the grief of my rebellious 16-year-old self, shackled by the confines of a boxy, shapeless uniform top, forced to attend classes each day in what I knew was just a tool to stifle my individuality. Most days, my friends and I would pin back our oversized shirts to show off some semblance of a teenage figure, sort of like they do on mannequins at the mall, and each day, our exasperated teachers would politely ask us to undo our modifications. The alternative was to wear a loaner shirt from the school office and pray it had been washed since the last sad sap had worn it to gym class. The battle was enduring, important and real: it was our Vietnam, and by God, we were going to fight.

So yes, I am young enough to have some sympathy for the creators of “Crop Top Day,” held Tuesday across Toronto in protest of school dress codes that prohibit the showing bare midriffs, bra straps and other believed expressions of originality. But I am also just old enough to see the whole thing through the lens of the adult curmudgeon, who doesn’t buy a single line about how this whole thing is about “feminism,” “body shaming,” “social justice” and “solidarity.” Boys cannot go to school wearing sleeveless shirts with gaping holes in lieu of sides, which are in fashion for some reason, just as girls cannot wear shirts like look sports bras to class. If anyone is beset by unfair regulations, as crop top protestors claim, then everyone is beset by unfair regulations. But this does not, in fact, have anything to do with oppression: it’s about going to school in clothes that don’t show off your damn bellybuttons.