The Fashion-Minded Professor : They’re cool. They’re casual. And they’re definitely not your stereotypical tweed-wearing instructors.

There’s no dress code at college, nor is there a sign posted in the ivy that says “No shirts, no shoes, no education.” But wearing shirts, shoes and something in between is encouraged.

Jack Sterk, faculty president of Val ley College and notorious down-dresser, once admonished a student for wearing only a Speedo swimsuit to class. “I thought that was inappropriate, he needed a shirt,” says Sterk, who in 24 years of teaching has never worn a suit and tie to class.

It should come as no surprise that some students dress as casually as possible, but so do some professors.

What seems to be missing from the class picture is the college professor who wears a rumpled tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.

“They’re a stereotype. First came the college professor wearing robes, then the tweed jacket. But even that has faded with time,” says Sterk, who says tweed sports coats are a preppy affectation of the East Coast Ivy League.

Sterk prefers a more wash-and-wear kind of style, as do many of his colleagues. The proponents of the surf-washed West Coast collegiate look say they are driven to their clothing choices by the climate and economics. Some instructors claim a casual style works as a teaching aid, others say they use clothing as a personal statement. There are a few renegade clotheshorses and still others who position themselves as futurists, responding to the globalization of fashion.

Bart Kosko is one of the most flagrant down-dressers. He wears jogging shorts and tank tops to teach fuzzy logic at USC, “and I do it without apology,” says the associate professor of engineering. “I bring down the dress code for the entire department.”

Kosko didn’t always dress for demotion; there was a time when he wore the working-stiff uniform of suit and tie--and hated it. “I used to have a hard time being a free man wearing a tie,” he says.

“I came to the university directly from a job in the aerospace industry. I noticed there was no dress code on campus. Before long the tie came off, then the button-down shirt. Eventually I wondered if I had the courage to dress as I pleased or was I a coward? I chose to dress as I pleased and have for several years.”

His minuscule workout clothes cause comment within the engineering department, “often jokes, often not,” he admits. But rather than worry about intra-departmental sniping, he finds solace in his fashion leadership role.

“I used to give fuzzy logic seminars to people in the computer industry. On the first day of the seminar they would all show up in coats and tie, then they’d see me. By noon the ties would be gone. By the second day most of the suits were gone.”

Kosko has found most men are eager to shed their three-piece suits for more relaxed clothing. He cites the business community’s adoption of dress-down Fridays as an example of one tiny step in his direction--only he’s bypassed all the intermediate levels of sport clothes and gone straight to the Ts and sweats.

The changing college styles are most noticeable among men. Deviations from the standard suit stand out. Women, however, have always had more latitude in what is deemed acceptable professional attire. Still, there are those who can find ways to rebel. Wendy Adest, for example.

The 45-year-old Art Center instructor who wears baby doll dresses, had, until recently, curly baby blond hair. Now she is scalped like an Army recruit. She found as much liberation cutting her hair as Kosko did abandoning his ties.

“My old hairstyle seemed to be an old approach to beauty. I think this is high fashion and pretty. My style of dress is very feminine--sheer little dresses and lace blouses--and this hairstyle is a counterpoint to that. My new haircut is really about being who I am in a way that is not traditionally attractive. It’s about being strong,” she says.

Adest, a sculptor, teaches art history at the Pasadena school. “I don’t have to have that traditional tweed look. Being an artist gives me license to have a different aesthetic. There is a code of dress, though you notice it more among the men. They wear khaki pants and blue work shirts. The head of the graduate studies program must have 200 blue work shirts.”

One exception to Art Center’s mode of chambray shirts is illustration instructor David Mocarski. He wears designer clothes--Japanese designer clothes. “I have some Yohji Yamamoto, Comme Des Garcon, Fuji silk, Go silk and some Armani,” he says lapsing into Italian.

“Artists are about explorations and experimentation. Every aspect of my life is like that, whether it’s the clothes I wear or where I live,” says Mocarski, a resident of the old Pabst brewery Downtown and owner of a Lotus Esprit. His appreciation of the finer things in life is made affordable by his sideline graphic design company.

Even though he dresses in fine style, Mocarski, like Kosko, receives negative reactions from the school administrators.

“During teacher reviews, they comment that I dress too well to be an art teacher, when they are supposed to be commenting on my teaching ability,” he grumbles.

Sterk bypasses any style conflicts by dressing for the heat and humility. He finds his students relate to him better if he dresses like them.

“I teach critical thinking, and I try and evoke comments from my students. If I dress too formally, they view me as an authority figure and are reticent to speak up,” Sterk says. “It’s also a matter of survival and income. Many of our buildings are not air conditioned, and we haven’t gotten a raise in five years.”

Even in more traditionally conservative scholastic environments, dress styles have changed. The students at Fuller Theological Seminary aren’t impressed with coats and ties or even clerical collars, says Isaac Canales, director of Hispanic Church Studies and professor of New Testament at Fuller, and pastor at Eben-Ezer Family Church in Carson.

“The generation that is preparing for the ministry is more relaxed than previous generations, so I am more relaxed in the classroom and the pulpit. It’s not surprising, or strange, to see a pastor in more informal attire in the pulpit or conducting business in short sleeves without a tie,” he says.

Canales says the casual dress style for teachers and ministers has been gaining momentum since the societal revolutions of the ‘60s. Once we relaxed our dress codes, we began to assimilate global influences, he says.

“Look at the Israeli Parliament. No one wears a tie. In Latin America, the guayabera is considered professional attire,” says Canales, who wears the traditional white shirt with pin tucks and patch pockets.

“Even the way we shop for our clothes has changed,” he says. “Years ago, you would never think of shopping outside Sears or JCPenney. And look at the massive swap meets we have today. It’s more like the way the rest of the world shops. As we become more internationalized, it’s reflected in our attire.”

Canales says his clothing choices-- guayaberas, slacks and sandals--are a result of who he is and where he lives. “The guayabera is part of my Hispanic culture; my sandals are more reflective of Southern California surfer attire,” he says. But he quickly adds: “On Sunday, I wear shoes.”