Suit Distress

About 2 months ago, I got bangs.  It was a big moment for me, as my hair-cutting choices tend to be pretty conservative and predicated on me doing little to no work on maintenance.  Bangs are high maintenance.  But they're just so dang cute and after I read about my fifth article describing Zooey Daschanel as a girl who likes cupcakes and polka-dots (2 of my all-time favourite things) I figured I should start doing my best to look more like her.  So bangs.

Problem: I forgot that I really really hate hair maintenance and also that I'm not like Zooey in any other way besides the two aforementioned affinities.

Further problem: I over-think these kinds of things and end up getting mad at "the man" for putting me into a box that I've just constructed in my mind.

To sum up the issue, a friend recently was sitting in my room and said, "You do not come over as the kind of person who would own this many scarves.  Or this many books on political strategy.  Certainly not both."

I should say up front, my comment on hair maintenance may have been misleading.  I hate that, but I really, really love getting dressed.  I own way too much clothing and putting it together in new ways is just one of the best activities there is.  My first day working in the Senate, I felt out of place.  Apparently both Democrats and Republicans can unite on one issue: they are anti-colour.  Grey, black, brown suits.  Everywhere.  My bright yellow sweater felt sadly out of place.  And at lunch, everyone is apparently only willing to eat pre-packaged sandwiches and/or salads.  Again, my curry and cupcake felt out of place.

But why?  Why, The Man?  Why are people in yellow sweaters supposed to go work in cupcake shops and not allowed to write strategy memos?  Even here at the school district office where I currently work, people ask if I'm a teacher.  Because I wear polka dots.  Apparently in order to work in education policy, a boring black suit is required.  One response to this would be to say that I would like to be taken seriously and therefore will wear a suit.  But as my mother, who has been forced to go suit-shopping with me on the two occasions on which I have bought an event-specific suit, can attest, that is just not really going to happen.

I think this is okay (The Man).  If we're going to build a stronger link between practitioners and policy-makers, perhaps wardrobe should be the first step.  I like that when I go into classrooms to chat with teachers, they don't feel threatened, they don't feel like I'm from some foreign place where it's not uncomfortable to wear a jacket and heels all day.  I like that when I leave the Hill, people don't automatically know I work there from the suit-badge combo and feel like I'm "one of them".  I think it makes me a better strategist, a better policy wonk and a better advocate.  And also better dressed.

So everyone (you too, The Man), go out and get yourself something in yellow.  You're welcome.