During my time in New York, I always kept an eye on MediaBistro’s writing and publishing job boards so whenever something interesting became available, I could jump on it.
Sometimes, I’d see a posting for an entry-level editorial department position at a company I was not familiar with, so I’d click on it to read the “About the Company” section. But without fail, if the description mentioned the words “fashion,” “beauty,” or “trends,” I’d immediately lose interest and close the window.
I have never been interested in fashion. My after-school wardrobe in grade school consisted of holey sweatpants and a T-shirt (when I was going through my I-refuse-to-wear-jeans-and-tank-tops phase) sometimes out of my brother’s closet. I wore an oversized green-and-gray striped Adidas T-shirt and jeans for my first day of high school (which made for a great first impression – geez, talk about committing social suicide) and would be that girl wearing her pajamas to my 8 a.m. class in college.
Clothes to me do not make a statement. While I love her music and the way she embraces her uniqueness, I don’t ever “get” Lady Gaga’s fashion sense. Her outrageous clothes are entertaining, sure, but never anything I’d be caught dead in (get it – meat dress? Dead? Too much of a stretch?).
Clothes don’t tell me how rich you are. I have no idea if that Louis Vuitton handbag costs $2,000 from an actual Louis Vuitton store or $20 from an actual Chinatown secret back room. (And yes, I did have to Google how to spell “Louis Vuitton” – and I studied French for four years. Et pour que?)
Clothes are just an annoying thing that causes angst because I no longer have my sister or cousins Gillian and Alexis around to dress me and tell me “you can’t wear those shoes with that outfit” or “that combination doesn’t match” or “wait, you actually wear that?” Plus, I see no reason to spend any great deal of money on objects that, on me, will get torn, food splattered on them, or worse, will cause an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction that, to me, rivals Janet Jackson’s.
But buying cheap clothes and shoes have a way of screwing you over more than your wallet. Remember the time that ever since I started my new job, I’ve become a walking wardrobe malfunction? Granted, none of these instances were as bad as the time I conducted half an interview with the Northwood, Ohio, police chief wondering why he never made eye contact and stared everywhere but at me before lamely excusing himself to grab some paperwork, which is when I finally noticed that my button-down blouse had come open right in the middle of my chest, completely exposing my bright pink bra. But still, they’re completely embarrassing.
And now, from the least embarrassing to the most embarrassing, here are the highlights:
Thankfully noticing that my pants had split before I went to work last week.
Forgetting to wear longer boy shorts underneath my skirt on a mile-long chafing walk on the hottest day of the year to work yesterday.
Not noticing that the long sweater I keep at my desk at work still had the “don’t steal me” tag on the bottom it even after wearing it several times when I got cold. Over the course of two weeks.
And yet my favorite incident happened yesterday – the day I chose to wear a skirt and heels for a big meeting with my boss, my boss’s boss, and several other real office colleagues.
I walked to the train station, walked a mile to work, and walked around the office all morning. It wasn’t until about 30 minutes before the meeting that one of my shoes breaks in half. As in I walked out of the bottom part of my platform shoe. As in, crap I don’t have an extra pair of shoes at my desk and don’t have time to get this fixed or get new shoes. After failing to find super glue, I spied some clear tape, grabbed about two feet of it, and wrapped it around the entire shoe twice so the top part would stay on the bottom, then put my foot on top of the tape.
As if having to tape my shoe together wasn’t bad enough, it made a loud, distinct, tape-y crunching noise when I walked, so my gait sounded something like, “clomp, CRUNCH, clomp, CRUNCH.” And this is how I walked into the meeting, and how I walked out and then back in during the middle of the meeting to grab some research I did that would be helpful. Luckily, if anyone noticed, they were nice enough to make me think that maybe they actually didn’t. Doubtful, but hopeful.
All I have to do is cross my fingers that that incident will continue to be the most embarrassing one – especially because in two weeks I’m planning on wearing an outfit for a project launch solely for people to notice what I’m wearing. I can already feel the foreshadowing. Stay tuned.
No comments:
Post a Comment