feminine pizazz
Yesterday I went outlet shopping with Jenny, even though I didn't intend to spend a lot of money, and I can't really afford or need a lot of the stuff there. (Because who can afford to be a big spender on a grad student stipend?) But it was nice to indulge the superficial -- how does it fit, the cut of a neckline, the material, spring colors, and so on.
I'll be honest. I like pretty things. Wearing them, making them (where I'm competent), looking at them. I like to think that I have my own aesthetic that's constantly evolving: a personal style that applies from the clothes I step out of the door in to how my notes are laid out on the page. I admire the clean lines that sweep out from a silhouette or the curves of a slender vase or a chiffon ruffle on Project Runway or the smooth sheen of uncreased release film in my lab.
Sometimes I find this at odds with the desired image of myself as a practical, no-frills scientist. But this is a social construct, really, which is likely largely attributable to the fact that my field is still male-dominated. It chafes at me when labmates and acquaintances make half-teasing, half-biting remarks about my nail polish or makeup or style or when am I going to settle down. Just because I appreciate the finer details doesn't mean you shouldn't take me seriously.
I think these interactions may have subtly pushed me harder to compensate for the voiced (and unvoiced) judgments. Dammit, I can be well-groomed, well-dressed, and charming while I kick your ass. With finesse.
I'll be honest. I like pretty things. Wearing them, making them (where I'm competent), looking at them. I like to think that I have my own aesthetic that's constantly evolving: a personal style that applies from the clothes I step out of the door in to how my notes are laid out on the page. I admire the clean lines that sweep out from a silhouette or the curves of a slender vase or a chiffon ruffle on Project Runway or the smooth sheen of uncreased release film in my lab.
Sometimes I find this at odds with the desired image of myself as a practical, no-frills scientist. But this is a social construct, really, which is likely largely attributable to the fact that my field is still male-dominated. It chafes at me when labmates and acquaintances make half-teasing, half-biting remarks about my nail polish or makeup or style or when am I going to settle down. Just because I appreciate the finer details doesn't mean you shouldn't take me seriously.
I think these interactions may have subtly pushed me harder to compensate for the voiced (and unvoiced) judgments. Dammit, I can be well-groomed, well-dressed, and charming while I kick your ass. With finesse.