Suits and "growing up"
Today was depressing:
Besides packing (we're moving most of our things to the apartment in Champaign on Saturday, house goes on the market next week) *sniffles*, I went shopping with Mom.
Normally, I don't complain too much about shopping--aside from the usual gripes that nothing fits me.
But this time, we were shopping for a SUIT.
I felt like a kid playing dress-up. I kept staring at the stranger in the mirror...the outfits felt so stiff, so formal. The reflected image is almost comic. The sleeves are almost aways too long, resulting in that child-like appearence. The waistline is always too large, so the skirt sits awkwardly on my hips instead of my waist. Even when the jacket fits correctly, it seems so restrictive that I'm terrifying of ripping it every time I turn. The damn pen skirt limits my range of my motion to dainty, lady-like steps (i suppose that was the point)--utter frustrating for someone who finds jeans too restrictive. Maybe it's just the inital discomfort of having to adjust to unfamiliar article of clothing...but I suspect that it's what a suit implies, rather than the straining itself that truly bothers me.
There's a little voice in my head sniding, "this is real life, kid--and that philo major can't shield you from a job forever."
Me--wear a suit? Me--work a 9-5 job? Me--hold down a REAL JOB?
AHHH!!! It's enough to make me flee to the familiar stress of academnics--hello grad school!
Obviously, the intent behind finding a suit for isn't necessary for a job...my parents are perfectly aware that my job-hunting days are still at least a decade away. But in the meantime, I have dozens of interviews, formal presentations, etc...to crawl through. I will probably need to wear one within the last year. My mom and I are not close enough in size that I can wear hers (without REALLY looking like a kid playing dress-up)...and besides, the only thing worse then wearing a suit, is wearing your mom's pale pink suit--a lingering skeptre from the late 80's.
Still...I've always associated suits (correctly or not) with the staunch rat-race of the work world. I remember being dragged along on numerous suit-shopping trips back in the early 90's, when my Mom was coming out of grad school. The anxiety she felt about entering the workforce--a foreign workforce where the language and culture were still a struggle for her--was projected into finding a suit that actually fits. Ready-made metaphor: the suits were always too big on her small, thin frame...or too expensive for our meager budget. I wonder if she felt that way about her jobs in those early years.
I wonder if I'd feel the same way. Eventually, I need pull myself out of the ivory tower, and start paying off my students loans.
Eventually, I need to take responsibility for myself and my family: pay my bills, pick up the laundry and the grocery, get to work online (am I EVER on time?)...
Maybe I'll get used to this. Maybe I'll eventually "grow into" these starch, uncomfortable things...maybe I'll even learn how to run to catch the morning train in a skirt that proves the old feminist claim of social enslavement (how DO those woman do it? In Chicago, I seem them running all the time, in those awkward skirts and terrifyingly high shoes, briefcase in one hand and coffee int he other...)
*grins* After all, I eventually got used to a bra...10 years ago, when I practiced cried when told that I have to wear one of those damned things for the rest of my life, I didn't think THAT was possible. (think about it: A strap around your chest, that threatens to cut off your circulation and restrict breathing--can you blame me for crying?).
You get used to almost anything. Even pencil skirts.
Besides packing (we're moving most of our things to the apartment in Champaign on Saturday, house goes on the market next week) *sniffles*, I went shopping with Mom.
Normally, I don't complain too much about shopping--aside from the usual gripes that nothing fits me.
But this time, we were shopping for a SUIT.
I felt like a kid playing dress-up. I kept staring at the stranger in the mirror...the outfits felt so stiff, so formal. The reflected image is almost comic. The sleeves are almost aways too long, resulting in that child-like appearence. The waistline is always too large, so the skirt sits awkwardly on my hips instead of my waist. Even when the jacket fits correctly, it seems so restrictive that I'm terrifying of ripping it every time I turn. The damn pen skirt limits my range of my motion to dainty, lady-like steps (i suppose that was the point)--utter frustrating for someone who finds jeans too restrictive. Maybe it's just the inital discomfort of having to adjust to unfamiliar article of clothing...but I suspect that it's what a suit implies, rather than the straining itself that truly bothers me.
There's a little voice in my head sniding, "this is real life, kid--and that philo major can't shield you from a job forever."
Me--wear a suit? Me--work a 9-5 job? Me--hold down a REAL JOB?
AHHH!!! It's enough to make me flee to the familiar stress of academnics--hello grad school!
Obviously, the intent behind finding a suit for isn't necessary for a job...my parents are perfectly aware that my job-hunting days are still at least a decade away. But in the meantime, I have dozens of interviews, formal presentations, etc...to crawl through. I will probably need to wear one within the last year. My mom and I are not close enough in size that I can wear hers (without REALLY looking like a kid playing dress-up)...and besides, the only thing worse then wearing a suit, is wearing your mom's pale pink suit--a lingering skeptre from the late 80's.
Still...I've always associated suits (correctly or not) with the staunch rat-race of the work world. I remember being dragged along on numerous suit-shopping trips back in the early 90's, when my Mom was coming out of grad school. The anxiety she felt about entering the workforce--a foreign workforce where the language and culture were still a struggle for her--was projected into finding a suit that actually fits. Ready-made metaphor: the suits were always too big on her small, thin frame...or too expensive for our meager budget. I wonder if she felt that way about her jobs in those early years.
I wonder if I'd feel the same way. Eventually, I need pull myself out of the ivory tower, and start paying off my students loans.
Eventually, I need to take responsibility for myself and my family: pay my bills, pick up the laundry and the grocery, get to work online (am I EVER on time?)...
Maybe I'll get used to this. Maybe I'll eventually "grow into" these starch, uncomfortable things...maybe I'll even learn how to run to catch the morning train in a skirt that proves the old feminist claim of social enslavement (how DO those woman do it? In Chicago, I seem them running all the time, in those awkward skirts and terrifyingly high shoes, briefcase in one hand and coffee int he other...)
*grins* After all, I eventually got used to a bra...10 years ago, when I practiced cried when told that I have to wear one of those damned things for the rest of my life, I didn't think THAT was possible. (think about it: A strap around your chest, that threatens to cut off your circulation and restrict breathing--can you blame me for crying?).
You get used to almost anything. Even pencil skirts.