As I’m spending a bit of time considering my next career move, I’ve got more time on my hands for thinking about things than I’ve had in an age. This is dangerous territory, as many who know me will know. Especially, when it comes to matters of identity and the workplace.
I’ve long been fascinated by what people’s clothing choices say about them. From the immaculately minimalist to the deliberately dishevelled, we all make statements of some kind with our exterior layers, especially for those of us who can choose what we wear to work. Seeing two articles in a matter of days coming at this from completely opposite ends set me to thinking. Are we really what we wear?
Confession time first – it took me many years to reconcile my strongly held feminist principles with my love of clothes and how a well-cut suit can add bundles of confidence to my day. Surely I should have more depth than to be affected by my outward appearance? Where are my inner resources of steel and self-confidence that render the need to care about clothing obsolete? Why do I care what other people think? If they can’t judge me for my values and principles and behaviour, then their opinion isn’t worth having. These were the thoughts that would run over and over in my mind as I stood agonising in front of my wardrobe every day.
And so, I determined that I should be as unobtrusive as possible in my clothes choices. Whatever the prevailing norms at the place I worked, I would follow. Consequently, I spent way too much time, and way too much money trying, unsuccessfully, to fit in. Neat little shift dresses and court shoes (my Hobbs phase as I think of it) in one job, and a commitment to anti-establishment dressing in another. Whatever I thought would make me look like I belonged, I would do. Not surprisingly, I never really felt at home in my own skin.
By the way, I’m not suggesting that seeking conformity through clothing is always a bad thing. Think of all those football fans with replica shirts straining across their torsos, or a Rocky Horror Show audience dressed to demonstrate their fealty to the show’s upending of the norms, or even of the school gate uniform of comfy leisurewear (one of my best friends once told me she felt totally out of place dropping her son off as she was the only one dressed for her very senior job in financial services, and not for a trip to the gym after a coffee). All of these signs and signals mean something, and if you’re happy that you’ve found your place in the world, then that’s great – wear it loud and proud. But I really hadn’t.
I’d always kept a strict boundary between work clothes and leisure clothes, changing as soon as I crossed my own threshold at the end of the day. It took me a shamefully long time to realise that this was a big part of my problem – I was acting the part of who I thought I was supposed to be, and using appearance to project it. And so I was constantly chronically comfortable in my work clothes. Of course, I’d been doing this for so long that I had absolutely no idea what my best look was for work. How could I be me?
Somehow I remembered a great article I’d once read about streamlining your wardrobe. The key, it seemed, was to look at the things I went back to time and again, and work out what it was about those that made them work for me. This wasn’t about how they looked, but how they made me feel. I was aiming for maximum comfort without giving up on the confidence. You can see what I learned about myself below, but does all this tell us about our poor Gen Z-ers who are trying desperately not to offend?
I hope that one day they’ll realise that they’ll be infinitely more successful in all aspects of their life if they express themselves a little bit more. Finding comfort in my outer skin has certainly helped me to be more comfortable in my inner one. Perhaps it will you, too?
Kirsty’s Rules for Confidence-Inducing Dressing
- I hate prints. All prints. Nothing in my ‘real’ wardrobe had a print but my ‘work’ wardrobe had a range of dresses and blouses that had some sort of print element, usually worn once, washed and left on the hanger for ever more. I’ll give a pass to a stripe, but only for rare exceptions.
- Midi dresses and skirts are not for me. My ‘real’ wardrobe was all either maxi or (well) above the knee. Where on earth had the proliferation of midis in my work wardrobe come from? Whenever I put them on, I felt frumpy, shapeless, and lacking in style.
- A well-cut trouser is my friend (as long as it’s got pockets). Loose legs, with a nice drape in a good weight fabric, in a plain colour. Wool for work, and linen/cheesecloth/denim for not work. No houndstooth, no tweed. Not even the sports luxe stripe along the seam.
- Sleeves should be long or capped. No short sleeves, no elbow length, no mid-forearm. I’m either getting my arms out completely, or I’m not. No half measures. And, by the way, I am getting my arms out, despite being over 40 and not having the fitness regime of Michelle Obama – they’re just arms. I’m grateful that I have two, both of which are fully functioning. Beyond that, again, they’re just arms. I absolutely love The Fold for their glorious silk cami tops: such effortless drape and they go with everything. Or Mint Velvet for an oversized, flowy shirt. I have about seven.
- Jackets should be roomy but not too long. Anything below hip-length makes me feel all kinds of wrong. They must have a collar, and ideally a functioning pocket. Block colours are best, and I love an interesting texture. ME + EM’s boyfriend cuts are spot on.
- I love a heel. I know we’re all about trainers and loafers now, and I’ve got my fair share of those too, but I do love a good quality, block heel for those days when I want to stand a little taller, both literally and figuratively. I can’t imagine ever giving them up.
Kirsty Palmer Consulting 