I read a bunch of advice columns, or rather, I did. I’m getting bored/unsatisfied with most of them, but the one that is still decent is Ask A Manager. It also has a good commentariat, who are, for the most art, able to see things from many points of view. They have their weird spots, too, though, and one of them is business attire.
There was a post about the 100-day dress challenge. The basic premise is that you wear this one specific dress for a hundred days in a row for reasons. Supposedly, it’s about sustainability, but that’s not really what’s happening. It’s basically a marketing ploy, but that’s not my focus. It’s on the amount of people who said don’t do it because you would stand out in a bad way. Oh, it’s unfortunate and they personally didn’t feel that way, mind, but you know, society.
One person went so far as to say don’t be weird. It’s ok to be eccentric, but not weird. I had such a visceral reaction to their comment for several reasons. One, what’s to differentiate weird and eccentric? Two, to me, eccentric is further outside the norm than is weird. Three, it’s such an arbitrary distinction, which is which or if something is weird or eccentric in the first place. four, as noted in response to the comment, it’s so juvenile. “Don’t be weird!” Why not? If it’s not actually harming someone (like wearing the same dress every day), who the fuck cares?
Now. I’m granting that there are office norms. I’m granting that if you wear the same thing every day in an office, people are going to notice. If you are a female-shaped person, people are going to care a lot more than if you’re a dude. You have to take that into account, especially when you’re starting a new job. But you could….just not care. Seriously.
In another advice column, there was a question from a woman who was having an argument with her mother about what she (letter writer, LW) wore around her step-nephew. She wore shorts and a tank to lounge around in and her mother argued this was inappropriate around the step-nephew who was a teenager. Without a bra. Prudie said to wear the tank tops and shorts, but to wear a bra. To lounge around. She said it didn’t have to be an underwire, blah, blah, blah, but presumably she would wear it outside the house, nipples, horrifying, etc.
My answer to that would be that I haven’t worn a bra on the regular for a decade. Mostly because don’t go many places, but even when I do, I don’t care. I have known for some time that being big chested means I’m going to get stares that small-titted women won’t. I’ve always joked that anything I wear without a bra makes me look slutty. I’m fine with that. It’s just nipples.
I don’t care. I have on a form-fitting black microfiber tank top with my nips flashing proudly. I have on microfiber booty shorts that show of my ass, which I’m proudly flaunting. When I go out of the house, I change the top, but not the shorts. I’m in love with these booty shorts, and I don’t care who knows it.
Quite frankly, that’s my feelings in general. I don’t care if you know how weird I am because I can’t be anything else. Another letter in Dear Prudence was about how to thank your liberal neighbors (as a right-winger) who went out of their way for you. Do they even drink beer? I found that letter suspect, but whatever. Don’t give me beer. I don’t drink. Prudie suggested baked goods. No. I can’t eat those, either. A nice thank-you card/email is fine.
I know that there is nothing people can give me that I can actually use/eat/drink, etc. That’s another way in which I’m “weird”. I’m also allergic to everything under the sun–including the sun. So don’t give me lotions, soaps, foods, perfumes, candles, or anything else like that. I’ll have to give it away because I can’t use any of that.
It’s strange to me how much people fear being ‘weird’. Again, I have the privilege of not having to work in an office so I can afford to let my freak flag fly. But, it’s also that I am weird. It’s baked into me, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. If I wanted to be ‘normal’, I would have to deny everything about myself. I’m not interested in marriage, children, religion, clothing, makeup, and most of pop culture. I don’t care about the Marvel Universe, Star Wars, Star Trek, or anything of that ilk. I just don’t give a shit.
I am not eccentric; I am fucking weird. And I can’t make myself care. Since my medical trauma, I care even less than I did before about what is normal. And the amount I cared before was minimal to none. Can you care less than nothing? I’m certainly giving it a go! It’s funny how people in the original post were so quick to clarify that they didn’t care about trivial things such as what someone wears, but others did–and isn’t that a shame?
Again, I’m not denying it’s true, but at least own up to the fact that you’re playing into it when you’re not actively fighting it. It’s the same with networking and nepotism. So many people saying that they don’t practice nepotism with their own family/friends–they just contacted that person they knew who needed someone in a role they knew their kid would be perfect for, but the kid had to do it themselves.
If it truly wasn’t a big deal that they introduced their kid to their friend, well, then don’t do it? I’m not saying they’re a monster for wanting to give their kid a leg up, but at least fucking acknowledge it. That’s the part that gets to me–the fucking hypocrisy. Own your shit and keep it moving. You want to give your kid a boost up–and why wouldn’t you? It’s your kid. But it’s disingenuous to both give them the leg up AND deny that the leg up actually matters. If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t do it. It really seems that simple to me.
One thing since getting out of the hospital: I just don’t care about convention any longer. I don’t mean things like wearing pants into a store or being polite to other people. I mean things like wearing a bra or giving a shit about what other people are wearing. As long as it’s clean, who the fuck cares?
I know the answer is that lots of people care. More people than not. I wish that weren’t the case, but that’s life. I’m going to live mine the way I see fit, trying not to care what others think. It’s not easy, but it can be done.