Dress up

They say to dress, not for the job you have now, but for the job you want. I'm wearing shorts, a faded T-shirt and old flip flops. I might be overdressed. Maybe I can ditch the shirt.

To dress this way one is usually either very poor or very rich. The poor have no choice. The rich have no one to impress.

At one time I wore a uniform. It was one of the few things I hated about being a firefighter. Not that I had anything against being identified as a firefighter. It makes sense to be able to recognize the man coming into your house with an ax as one of the good guys. What drove me nuts were the officers who made a big deal about our uniforms being perfect. Some of these guys loved their pretty white shirts and gold buttons. That's fine for them, but my uniform was going to be in a burning building, not out in the street talking on a radio. If my badge was a tiny bit crooked, it wasn't going to matter.

Most jobs require a uniform. It might be blatant, like a set of blues with your name on the pocket. It could be subtle, like that suit you wear to work. While not a “uniform” exactly, there are certain norms that are violated at your own peril.

One of the real pleasures of my life right now is that I can dress the way I want. If I'm wearing shorts, it's because it's warm. If I've a heavy coat on, it's because it's cold. Last night I was packing my clothes for sailing. My wardrobe is almost totally picked for function. Somehow that feels kinda good. There's no one to impress and nothing to conform to.

-Sixbears