I believe it was Cami, of Laguna Beach Season Three, who so elegantly stated, on the subject or Raquel’s outfit choices, “I hate it when people are rich and they don’t even dress good.”

I think we all joined Cami in that sentiment, sighing with exhaustion as we watched Raquel mediate yet another girlfight, swathed in an undersized white lace top and a polyester Santa Clause hat. And although we often find Cami and Kyndra gossiping over designer dresses in their favorite Laguna boutique, nary do we see them in anything but destroyed jeans, flip-flops, and hooded sweatshirts. It took three whole seasons for a cast member to finally ask the burning question: how can people so ”interesting” dress so boringly.

The Laguna aesthetic astounds me with its monotony: all the girls, down to every last dark root, have the same haircut, and all the guys have the same awful skateboard shoes. And while California style has always been a bit of a disappointment to me, its overall sun-bleached, vintage-washed flip-floppedness seems to culminate and sort of ferment to something especially lackluster within the walls of the Laguna Beach bubble. Is it something in the water?

Perhaps we can blame the show’s production . . . after all, Tessa scuffing around in something more palatable than a pair of Ugg boots might background her tumultuous friendship triangle with Breanna and Raquel. Further, if pretty-but-boring Lexie started dressing better, she might possibly steal the spotlight away from Kyndra, who is far less attractive, but nonetheless meaner, which draws in more viewers. As for the guys? Where else but the innumerable pockets of their perpetually-dooned cargo pants would they hide their RAZRs containing seductive text messages from girls who aren’t their girlfriends? Unfortunately, as fake as Cami’s acrylic-tipped nails may be, Laguna is, after all, a reality show, and in the grand scheme of reality shows, fashion has to take a backseat to scripted drama.

Or, it could be that the Laguna kids aren’t invincible after all (although Jessica’s mental breakdown in season two could have told us that.) That is to say, perhaps even they have some confidence issues to work out, no matter how hard they may pound the pavement at Laguna High and no matter how long their hair extensions may be. Fashion, after all, is best executed by the gutsiest, not necessarily the loudest, blondest, prettiest, or most popular. Maybe we’re let down by the Laguna girls’ fashion choices because we inherently associate, as Cami did, style with wealth, and set impossibly high expectations that they, as high school students, could never be able to meet. No matter how real the storyline, it’s hard for us to remember that the Laguna kids are teenagers first, and megalomaniacal robots second. They, just like that Abercrombie android in your history class, have the inalienable right to dress boringly.

So shall I retract my criticism? Like, no. In true Laguna fashion (pun intended), I refused to play nice; after all, these girls had it coming. And when season four meanders into the MTV schedule, you’ll all commence the traditional yelling-into-your-TV-screen-at-Jessica-telling-her-to-get-over Jason routine, and I’ll be firmly advising her to please never wear that ill-fitting miniskirt again.

Oh, and LC? Good luck at fashion school.