Dressing Like an Adult

Or, as my mother used to say when I was on my way out the door on a high school date, "Be a lady." God. Another ruined date.

I've had the, "Dressing like an adult," discussion with women coworkers, especially when traveling for business. On a normal work day, we all just showed up. Never dressed the way we were the day before, of course, and usually sporting different earrings. But somehow looking the same, each of us adopting our professional persona, acquired over the years as we, and fashion, evolved. When traveling, we either shared rooms because the state was too cheap to put us in reasonable accommodations alone or met at each others' rooms before the costume was fully donned; and so it was we saw each other in our more genuine states.

That conversation typically contrasted our reality to that of men who not only get away with wearing the same pair of slacks for the whole week but whom we suspected never appraised themselves in mirrors before leaving for work. We'd sigh, take the last look to be sure the mascara hadn't dribbled onto our cheeks and that no errant eyebrow hairs were evident, then come in to full character to walk down the motel hallway to our first meeting of the day, touching our coifs to be sure the closing door hadn't mussed them.

I gave up on makeup when I retired. I wear cleanish jeans and T-shirts, maybe a polo shirt if we go out into the world (i.e., other than Safeway, Pet Food Express, or the hardware store). A bra? Only when common decency demands it - that or my own sense of decorum. I've never been one to go to a women's music festival for the pleasure of walking around without a shirt on.

Leaving aside any further feminist critical thinking about all of this, I faced a decision on Monday. I went to a business to continue talking with people (all women so far, as it turns out) about how I might fit in their business and how it might work for me. The meeting was over lunch, giving the situation an air of informality, but I had to enter the workplace to meet my contact.

After much thought and reflection on 38 years of dressing like an adult, I concluded that I am - kinda sorta - ready to approach future employment on my own terms. That is, I will not be a persona, I will be me. That immediately took care of the makeup decision... Not. I'm not a slob and I do still respect most social mores, though, so jeans (for this kind of work, anyway) were out. I'll never wear a skirt again because the psoriasis on my legs might make people fear I am a leper, so that left slacks. Add a simple shirt, and earrings and the Movado watch, and I was done. I like earrings. In fact, I like gemstones. So girly of me but there you have it.

I enjoyed the meeting and the Chilean empanada was wonderful. Our discussion wandered far and wide, and we left it at the, "stay in touch," place, which is what I'd hoped for. The happy, relaxed me feels better on me every day.

This is my favorite picture of me, captured by our friend Vicky Semones as we started off to hike the falls at Mt. Shasta. I'm going with this look.