I’m as average as they come. For as long as I can remember, doctors have invariably concluded at my annual visit that my height and weight were within the fiftieth percentile. My childhood was average, equal parts idyllic play and monotonous suburban boredom. I went to an ordinary college and was awarded the layperson’s liberal arts degree. The catch? I also happen to be an Orthodox Jew.

Which means I abide by the laws of modesty: A set of rules dictating what one can and cannot wear. The basic laws are simple—cover the knees, the elbows, and the collarbone, and don’t wear anything skintight. Beyond that, I have the freedom to wear what I please. Clashing prints and colors so bright you have to squint to see properly? Check. Heels so high I struggle to keep my balance? Check. I have never considered my mode of dress to be strange, or that it somehow makes me a fundamentalist or a quack. Within my insular community, the way I dress is the norm, not the exception.

Then I went to college. For the first time, I was surrounded by people from all walks of life. Toward the end of my freshman year, as summer approached, I was thrust out of obscurity and into the role of human spectacle. As students traded their Uggs and oversize sweaters for cropped jean shorts and spaghetti-strap tank tops, my long-sleeve tops and knee-length denim skirts became increasingly conspicuous.

Still, I never felt embarrassed by what a classmate termed my “archaic devotion to overdressing.” In fact, I was proud of it. The more people stared and commented on my dressing habits, the more strident I became. As the temperatures crept toward a broiling 95 degrees, I may or may not have purposely added a thick wool top or fuzzy sweater to my look.

I first began tznius-fying (the Hebrew word for “modesty”) in high school. Specifically, at Roosevelt Field Mall on Long Island. Roaming the vast expanses of white linoleum one day, I happened to notice a blaring yellow “$5 Clearance!” sign hanging prominently in one window. The store, Rampage, was one of the more immodest in the mall: Its belly-baring tops and booty shorts suited girls going to the club far more than religious girls who feel uncomfortable showing even an inch of knee.