I work in an office. Like, imagine The Man. Imagine he made an office.
The suites have glass walls, to avoid potential naughtiness
The desks are set up trading floor style, so no one has an ounce of privacy, except a 3’x2’ waist height cabinet, three compartments.
Now imagine it was filled with people who suck up to The Man. Their fears rational, but unfounded. The Man couldn’t care, he’s only paying for your time. But at the promise of more value, they easily offer up their souls and hearts too.
Shirt and ties, shoes polished, hair relaxed and straightened. Make up applied generously least they think you tired, but subtle, least they think you a hussy.
Orwell would have had a seizure.
Everyone’s so fearful to be outside the rut, to take a risk, that we’re just nesting dolls of each other, each’s features a little more blurred, a little closer to the mold. We set intentions of limitation, not to loud, not to dressy, not too comfortable, not too bold.
It’s the fear to stand out too far, afraid to be challenged or challenging. Don’t rustle feathers. Don’t make a mistake, lest they notice.
But what the fuck are rules if you’re just imposing them on yourself?
Why leave all of that behind? The weird, the unique, the strange. That’s what makes you interesting! That’s what make you, you!
It’s not like anyone even cares. The dress code is only “office appropriate”.
And so, no hate if you’ve got suits on suits, well-tailored to your silhouette.
No hate to the women who’ve spend lives internalizing the patriarchy, never dressing as if they’re asking for it, not looking like a whore, not free to express themselves.
No hate to anyone who’s been uncomfortable in their own skin, be it themselves or their community that imposes unrealistic, unhealthy standards.
But let it out. Do you. Comeon, what do you have to lose?
I don’t know that other offices have nearly the problem I face. I acknowledge I work in a particularly stifling field and company. Certainly, friends in marketing, start up, nonprofits, etc. don’t have anything close to a dress code, and the atmospheres are strictly different.
It’s just one of those costs to being where I am.
But I still don’t like it.
I wish they had some courage. It’s smothering. It’s uninspiring. It’s boring.
I’ve rebelled as much as I could. I remember “debuting” the top knot. That was a topic of conversation, appreciation, and derision for a long time.
Then doubling down some months later, when I had the audacity to wear my hair down. On a Friday!
Unreal.
I’ve got a pair of work shoes at my desk, so I can change into “appropriate” wear [read: uncomfortable and expensive]. But I’ve been wearing increasingly expressive shoes to work, my favorite being a pair of Adidas designed by Seeley’s. A mishmash of orange, blue, black on a white background make for loud but very catching shoes. They fit well, they’re impressive looking, and I like them so much that I regularly clean them with baking soda, vinegar, and wipes.
I get complimented all the time on them.
In the office.
By executives!
[I actually can’t tell how many are being sarcastic, but I can be assured of some level of appreciation from a few colleagues]
Look what I’m saying is that we don’t have to be so restrictive of ourselves. And that the more we are the more damage we do to our community. Who wants to work in a place that stifles individuality?
Anyway, I’m trying to bring more of me into the office. I like me, I like my taste in clothing and dress. I have lazy days too, defaulting basic office cloths. But I’m also less afraid to be bold and different. Wear a couple of thrift store pick-ups. Be creative.
I think art begets itself, regardless of the medium. Since I’m working so hard on the writing, might as well work on the “office-appropriate-but-pushing-the-boundaries-limit” too.