almost dressed for success
I used to wear black shorts to school. That I had made. I also once wore a green jogging suit in Jr. High. No one told me not to do these things. How I not only survived without getting beat up, but thrived remains a highly-kept bully secret.
I was in Home Ec class, when it was still called Home Economics. Before I finished high school, it had been re-named Family Studies. I have no idea what they call it now. There were three components to the class: cooking, health and well-being something rather, and sewing. Everyone had to take it, even the guys. Conversely, we also all had to take Industrial Arts, which I rather enjoyed, more so than Home Ec. The toys you got to play with were just so much more satisfying than cooking utensils and sewing machines.
In Grade 7, the sewing project was an apron. In grade 8, it was something else that I cannot possibly remember, and in grade 9, (or perhaps I am remembering incorrectly and it was really grade 8,) a pair of shorts.
Naturally, since the teenage years are a dark period for all, the material I chose for my shorts was black. They had an elastic waist. I don’t remember them being particularly difficult to make, and I was obviously pleased enough with the results to actually wear them regularly to school. I’m sure everyone else was laughing. If not outwardly, then on the inside.
In Elementary school, I wore jogging suits all the time. It was the eighties, that's how it was. By Jr. High, it was the early 90s, but again, no one told me what my peers seemed to have known instinctively. So, after wearing jeans for a while in Grade 7, I decided to go back to the jogging suit. I chose a green one. I then spent the entire day looking for the one other student that was also wearing a jogging suit. There was nobody, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. I went home that day and put the jogging suits to rest. At school, anyway. No one knew what I wore at home. And I wasn’t going to tell them.
So, the point of this thing, which I am getting to ever so slowly by reliving painful childhood memories, is the fact that until very recently I have never really been able to dress myself properly. I didn’t know what colours went with what. I had no idea what things complimented my body type, and would try something on, and literally not know whether or not it looked good. If it was comfortable, I usually bought it. This had the effect of me often looking like a punk kid, or a sack of potatoes. And to be honest, I prided myself on not really caring what I looked like, emphasizing instead, my brilliant personality. Ahem.
But, over time I learned that being complimented on a piece of clothing feels good. When you put on that one suit that you own for a job interview, looking and feeling like a million bucks, it is good for the self-esteem. When guys check out how hot your ass is in tight jeans, that too is good for the self-esteem.
Recently in school, a librarian in the field came to give a short talk to students about working in corporate libraries. Part of her spiel was “job tips,” which included advice such as, “go to a professional stylist and get a good haircut,” “don’t wear jeans, buy a suit that fits, or get one tailored,” and my personal favourite, “don’t wear broken shoes.” Apparently someone she had interviewed showed up in tattered, broken heels. I thought her bit was hilariously funny, but all the other students found it condescending. But I think it’s true. It matters how you look at a job interview, and it matters how you go about your business everyday. It’s not the only thing that matters, but it does matter enough to stop dressing like a peasant when you live and work in downtown Toronto.
So, in the summertime when the boyfriend was away, I had a lot of free time. And I wondered how exactly to go about figuring out how to dress myself well. I did what I typically do when I don’t know what’s what, and searched online. I found some information, but nothing comprehensive enough to make me break my habits. Then I went to a bookstore where I found I Don’t Have a Thing to Wear: The Psychology of your Closet. I did feel like a putz buying it, but this was something worth learning. And you know what? I finally did. Death to jogging suits. Hello to the children’s section. Yes, that’s right. Jeans that fit now cost $18, and no GST. I may be small, but you are the sucker. You laughed at my June-made shorts.
I was in Home Ec class, when it was still called Home Economics. Before I finished high school, it had been re-named Family Studies. I have no idea what they call it now. There were three components to the class: cooking, health and well-being something rather, and sewing. Everyone had to take it, even the guys. Conversely, we also all had to take Industrial Arts, which I rather enjoyed, more so than Home Ec. The toys you got to play with were just so much more satisfying than cooking utensils and sewing machines.
In Grade 7, the sewing project was an apron. In grade 8, it was something else that I cannot possibly remember, and in grade 9, (or perhaps I am remembering incorrectly and it was really grade 8,) a pair of shorts.
Naturally, since the teenage years are a dark period for all, the material I chose for my shorts was black. They had an elastic waist. I don’t remember them being particularly difficult to make, and I was obviously pleased enough with the results to actually wear them regularly to school. I’m sure everyone else was laughing. If not outwardly, then on the inside.
In Elementary school, I wore jogging suits all the time. It was the eighties, that's how it was. By Jr. High, it was the early 90s, but again, no one told me what my peers seemed to have known instinctively. So, after wearing jeans for a while in Grade 7, I decided to go back to the jogging suit. I chose a green one. I then spent the entire day looking for the one other student that was also wearing a jogging suit. There was nobody, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. I went home that day and put the jogging suits to rest. At school, anyway. No one knew what I wore at home. And I wasn’t going to tell them.
So, the point of this thing, which I am getting to ever so slowly by reliving painful childhood memories, is the fact that until very recently I have never really been able to dress myself properly. I didn’t know what colours went with what. I had no idea what things complimented my body type, and would try something on, and literally not know whether or not it looked good. If it was comfortable, I usually bought it. This had the effect of me often looking like a punk kid, or a sack of potatoes. And to be honest, I prided myself on not really caring what I looked like, emphasizing instead, my brilliant personality. Ahem.
But, over time I learned that being complimented on a piece of clothing feels good. When you put on that one suit that you own for a job interview, looking and feeling like a million bucks, it is good for the self-esteem. When guys check out how hot your ass is in tight jeans, that too is good for the self-esteem.
Recently in school, a librarian in the field came to give a short talk to students about working in corporate libraries. Part of her spiel was “job tips,” which included advice such as, “go to a professional stylist and get a good haircut,” “don’t wear jeans, buy a suit that fits, or get one tailored,” and my personal favourite, “don’t wear broken shoes.” Apparently someone she had interviewed showed up in tattered, broken heels. I thought her bit was hilariously funny, but all the other students found it condescending. But I think it’s true. It matters how you look at a job interview, and it matters how you go about your business everyday. It’s not the only thing that matters, but it does matter enough to stop dressing like a peasant when you live and work in downtown Toronto.
So, in the summertime when the boyfriend was away, I had a lot of free time. And I wondered how exactly to go about figuring out how to dress myself well. I did what I typically do when I don’t know what’s what, and searched online. I found some information, but nothing comprehensive enough to make me break my habits. Then I went to a bookstore where I found I Don’t Have a Thing to Wear: The Psychology of your Closet. I did feel like a putz buying it, but this was something worth learning. And you know what? I finally did. Death to jogging suits. Hello to the children’s section. Yes, that’s right. Jeans that fit now cost $18, and no GST. I may be small, but you are the sucker. You laughed at my June-made shorts.
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