During the spring semester of my first year of college, my roommate and I determined that we would wear only ten outfits between us. We had just watched the movie Romero, about the Salvadoran archbishop martyred for his work with the poor, and had concluded that we’d had it with the consumptive lifestyles of North Americans, our own included. So we decided to choose one symbol of materialism—an abundance of clothing—from which to declare our independence. We hauled out all of our clothes and sorted through the piles, carefully weighing how versatile each blouse was and which sweaters matched which pants. Then we hung up the chosen pieces, boxed up the rejected ones, and prayed that no one on campus would think us too weird.