Fashion -- much like microbiology and trigonometry -- is something I'll never be able to wrap my brain around.

I reached this little epiphany during my freshman year here at Penn State when I realized I lack the two key elements a trend-follower must have: a large disposable income and an unchallenging, conformist mindset.

My main issue with what we refer to as "fashion" today is the way it's so formulaic and predictable.

Your basic rise-and-fall of a trend goes something like this:

First, an idiotic celebrity like Lindsay Lohan sees some poor, un-cool slacker sporting a cheesy Goodwill T-shirt.

That T-shirt would have never gone anywhere being donned by the original slacker and his or her friends, but once Miss Lohan gets her rich little hand on it, everybody in the country will want to wear it or something like it.

Next, a retailer will see a picture of Lindsay wearing whatever T-shirt she snagged to copy the un-cool slacker. Our slacker, by the way, will never get any credit because everyone knows celebrities are true fashion geniuses and would never steal fashion tips from some random, un-hip stranger on the street.

Everything celebrities wear is not only "hot," it's completely original and perfect for emulation.

The retailer then does a little Abercrombification via mass-producing the same three cheesy T-shirts.

These are not high-quality tees, either; they are crappy, thin shirts with a faded, cracked screen print to make them look old and loved like the original slacker's Goodwill treasure.

A crucial difference to be noted is that the Abercrombified shirts will be from places and events that never existed because using real places or events would defeat the pure artificiality they're marketing. Making up places and events also provides leeway for clever little puns about woodland animals or land formations.

Before sales can begin, executives must sit down and figure out how much their target market of privileged 18- to 24-year-olds would be willing to pay for these shirts. The executives usually determine that charging three times what any sane person would pay is just about right.

After factories have produced 85,000 more tees than anyone could possibly justify manufacturing, they are slapped onto every storefront mannequin atop a pair of jeans with a uniform rip at the knee.

The displays come out just around the time the third or fourth copy of the celebrity in their quirky shirt hits local shelves.

Voila! A trend is born.

If this formula sounds painfully mindless and simple to you -- it's because it is painfully mindless and simple.

If someone as fashionably inept as I am can break through to the inner-workings of trends, it's obviously not the complicated puzzle fashion "experts" would lead you to believe.

If you don't believe in my formula, plug new words into the equation like "trucker hat" instead of "T-shirt" and "skateboarder" instead of "slacker."

Using Ashton Kutcher as your celebrity in place of Lindsay Lohan, I give you the trucker hat phenomenon we're unfortunately still experiencing. Honestly, you can use this formula with any celebrity/apparel/un-hip group combination you can think of to explain whatever eyesore people are sporting in ludicrously large numbers.

Most recently, you may have noticed a poncho trend on the rise. I'm not talking about the practical raingear, either.

I'm talking about a shameless rip-off of what Mexican peasants have been wearing in Western movies for years.

Sure, they've been Abercrombified -- they're no longer made out of blankets and are being sold for three times their retail value -- but they're still ponchos.

Stealing an element of style from a group of people who don't want to be part of a trend only leads to trouble.

Clothing used to be a way for people to wear their personalities on the outside; a way to determine who might provide good conversation based on similar interests as expressed by his or her attire.

Nowadays you can't tell where people's interests lie based on their dress and mistakes are frequently made.

Mistakes like our slacker thinking it's safe to strike up a conversation with someone wearing an ironic T-shirt -- until the wearer talks his or her ear off with something utterly menial like Justin Timberlake or orange being the new pink.

Maybe I'll just become a nudist in order to save myself the hassle of being seen as a trend-worshipper every time some worthless celebrity steals an aspect of my self-proclaimed slacker style and spreads it all over campus.