Lookin' Spiffy Parts 1 and 2

My mother has been spending a great deal of her free time explaining to me the ups and downs of job searching. To those of you out there who have never met my mother, you must understand two things: the first that her life goal is to boss others around in a seemingly gentle manner, while hypothetically putting their nuts in a vice and squeezing slowly. So slowly in fact that you notice nothing at all until the final twist of the handle. And the second is to lay on the guilt so heavily that you feel like you must run to the nearest confessional despite your being Jewish, or Buddhist, or something of that ilk.

And this leads me to suit shopping. The corporate world has set up a foundation for foundational pantyhose and high heeled shoes in the ways of women's fashion in the workplace (though I can't really say that the more "open" companies haven't extended the same fashions to the men as well, but only on casual Friday) and thusly my mama has decided I must be outfitted properly.

Properly to her involves shoulder pads so massive I could play defense for the New York Giants and a pair of pants so loose my butt looks like a flapjack. This is not to say that she hasn't been helpful, but mostly to say that our ideas of fashion fizzle on opposite ends of the spectrum. For example: on our last excursion, I was recovering from the flu, cranky and rather ticked that I hadn't been able to finish my eggs from earlier that morning. Being bombarded by both my mother and her sister in the ways of suits so horrible I looked like my grandmother put me in a rather sour mood and I proceeded to frown at the matronly jackets until my mother finally said "BAH! I GIVE UP" and let me try on what I wanted...

...though I still ended up in shoulder pads.

It did not exactly go any better with my friends Jessica or Alison. Jessica, a smartly dressed sophomore in college keenly went through racks of clothing at H & M like a wolverine on the prowl. Alison, following like a duckling behind her mama, trudged behind Jessica as sweaters were piled onto her thin arms. All of us were shopping for appropriate work attire, though Alison's teaching position as a grad student at the University of Arizona differs greatly from Jessica's prospective marketing internships in the ways of appropriate, so I end up picking up slack and running off (away) on my own to find work casual like apparel that isn't tainted with the smell of the 1980's. H & M is a grand way to start collecting work clothing, especially as it caters to people younger than the FDR era (otherwise known as I left the house without my mother).

And then the worse happened...everything looked like crap. The irony gods (wherever they are) were up there dancing a jig at my misfortune as the clothes I wanted to wear made me look like a high end corporate madame digging up her next client...it just goes to show you that my mother was right all along and that dressing for the older employers really makes all the difference.

So I bought the madame clothes out of spite.