I like to joke that The New York Times is my favorite brand of clothing. It isn’t really a joke, though — I’ve been proudly repping merch from the Cooking section of the Times for the last three years. But my collection of about two dozen pieces of food-themed clothing and accessories, from my Abercrombie & Fitch bagel shirt to my Beli app hat, goes back much further than that. It represents not only my love for cooking and eating, but also my journey as a student and professional in the world of food. 

When I first came to NYU, I initially hesitated to wear anything overly focused on food. Was a sweatshirt with garlic cloves on the front and a list of garlic-containing recipes on the back too quirky, even for a Food Studies major like myself? Toward the end of Project OutReach, a pre-orientation community service program I participated in alongside about 100 other NYU first-years, I decided to give it a chance. The ensuing wave of students that complimented the sweatshirt and asked where I got it from was shocking to me. “The New York Times, of course,” I would say.

While this wasn’t the first time I used fashion to show that food was my brand, I wasn’t used to receiving so much genuine interest in it from others. In middle and high school, I was known as the girl who loved food. I would show up to school in a cilantro T-shirt with my mom’s signature kale chiffonade salad for lunch, made with homemade breadcrumbs and thin slices of salami, ricotta salata and pepperoncinis. My final project in Advanced Placement U.S. History discussed how food shaped the course of American history as a commodity and tool of revolution. When I presented, I tactfully wore a Bon Appétit T-shirt with the words “taco nation” in fiery bold letters on the breast pocket and a sunglasses-wearing fish lounging in a taco shell on the back.

Despite these outward displays of foodie-ness, I struggled to get the sense that my community understood that food was more than just a passion. My courseload in high school focused heavily on STEM classes. So when I debuted my double major in journalism and food studies on my high school’s college decisions Instagram account, I was met with both pleasant surprise and a bit of confusion. Many friends, acquaintances and teachers were excited to see me pursue what I love — but it was undeniable that a career in food wasn’t what anyone expected from me.

I’ve had my fair share of comments from relatives joking that I had the audacity to stray from my family’s path. In reality, my pediatric-emergency-medicine-physician mother, urologist father and soon-to-be-physical-therapist sister are my biggest supporters. But those little moments of tension — the raised eyebrows implying that a career in food isn’t respectable, or the assumption that my time of academic achievement was a thing of the past — began to accumulate into self-doubt. 

As the pressure of traditional success weighed on me, my collection of food accessories and clothing began to grow. Last summer, one of my friends from high school knitted me a chartreuse-colored sweater vest with the word “kale” on it, a nod to my love for the unpopular vegetable. For my 19th birthday, my parents gifted me an egg long-sleeve shirt from Bon Appétit magazine and a Uniqlo T-shirt with yakitori, or Japanese skewers. On days with big exams or stressful presentations, I always opt for a food-themed outfit — like my Ni De Mama xiao long bao hat and green onion sweatshirt — for maximum comfort and confidence. 

These pieces of clothing are a fun representation of my foodie nature — but more importantly, they symbolize my interests, values and aspirations. In my nearly two years at NYU, what has stood out most to me are the food-oriented academic and professional communities I’ve become a part of. At the Department of Nutrition and Food Studies, I am surrounded by peers and professors who are fascinated by the interdisciplinary, complex nature of the food system. At WSN, where I was the Dining Editor last semester and currently serve as Culture Editor, I have the freedom to explore the intersections between food, culture and beyond. And no matter where I am in New York City, my unique pieces of clothing never fail to be a talking point with strangers and close friends alike.  

Wearing clothes that reflect my identity is a uniquely freeing experience, and has given me the courage to live nearly 3,000 miles away from home, pursue my biggest passion and build a career out of it. Like my parents and sister, I also might become a doctor one day — with a Ph.D. in food studies, that is — and if I’m lucky, I’ll still get to wear my dumpling hat to work. 

Contact Lauren Ng at lng@nyunews.com.