A couple of weeks ago, a miracle occurred: I got a job. This is exciting for many reasons, not the least of which is that now my fantasies no longer include embarking on a traveler’s quest to Peru, where I will dress in coco leaves and become impregnated by a man named Javier.
Additionally, it means I have to/ get to get dressed every day. This, friends, is a revelation.
For months (months!) my beautiful, plentiful professional clothes have hung silent and neglected in my closet. Accumulated over years of careful planning, meticulously preserved during moves both physical and professional, I have stacks of skirts and sweaters and jackets that have been periodically perfect when my life has called for me to pull it together.
Until recently, this had not been the case.
As a teacher, it does not behoove one to wear a silk skirt when one’s planned activities include making monster eyes out of egg yolk. As a server, the Uniform of Shame is a dictated monstrosity, and thank God for it because who wants to ruin their polos and their reputation. And last summer, my hideous pay-for-booze job essentially required me to wear tomato stains on a daily basis. It should go without saying that the tomatoes were probably worth more than the clothes I chose to go under them.
And so now it is with the greatest of pleasures that I have been dressing for a proper, civilized, highly visible and fashion forward position. The job is at an (The!) art museum, and so I have taken it upon myself to dress as if I were a part of the collection. Draping. Dresses. Hair. Heels. I want to look like a Vogue spread of Museum Girls at Work. Is this ridiculous? Probably. Do I give a crap? Absolutely not.
I am of course aware that to actually clad myself in period dress would be a touch too costumey, but I finally have the opportunity to dress like the highbrow art snob I have always pretended to be. Among my coworkers, I am not the only one to take this approach, but in general they lean more towards art-student-formal than art-patron-professional, which is the look I’m going for. And I’m sure there are some eye-rolls at the parade of blazers I have launched since I started work, but I’m refusing to tone it down. And why should I?
After all, when surrounded by such monolithic beauty, I feel it would be an affront to exclude myself from it. I mean, I live for this! My closet collection began long before I had an occasion to display it. And the closet liberation has been something I’ve been anticipating for years. It’s only now that it isn’t ridiculous that I have a blazer collection. I’m not getting paid nearly enough to go buy 12 designer blazers, but luckily, I’ve spent 10 years hoarding them. What I’m grateful for is that they’re already ready to go.
It’s probably insane that I’ve spent the time and money I have accumulating clothes before they had a purpose, but I guess I was putting faith in the future, as it were, and finally (finally!) the time for personal presentation is upon me. And every day, it feels fucking great to get dressed.
