(Hint: The ones that I can walk are the ugly ones)
Last week, I started a new internship that I’ve pretty much been freaking out about since the day I found out that I got it. I’m in love with my new internship. It’s in an awesome office and I get to do cool stuff. I might even learn a few new adjectives, but don’t hold your breath. Basically, work-Lily is thrilled (romance-Lily continues to roll her eyes at everything).
Anyways, one thing that continues to confuse me is the dress code. I’m told “business casual,” but have basically stuck to the skirt-collared shirt/and/or blazer (never both!) mold. So last night, when picking out my outfit, I attempted to break out of the monotony and failed, and I blame it on my friend Nick, who suddenly donned the “fashion guru” hat. Have I mentioned that I’m currently living like the Beverly Hillbillies? Our friends Nick and Nico don’t move out until this weekend, so we’re at capacity. It’s actually been a fun time, it’s nice to have your friends right outside your room, it’s almost like we’re slowly weening ourselves from dorm life My only beef is that the TV is on ESPN every freakin’ moment, but I digress.
Anyways, last night, our living room was momentarily a runway, and I was slinking down the catwalk (okay, walking like this.) My main goal was to wear this simple pair of black pants from Gap and a white button up. But no! Nick deemed that it made me look like Ellen DeGeneres (not mah’ style), so it was back to the drawing board. I returned with accessories and a pair of particularly girly heels. Nope. So I went the other way and wore a mini skirt that I knew I would never in a million years wear to the office but really just wanted to exclaim, “so I’m either the office slut of the office Melissa Etheridge?” So today’s (Wednesday’s) outfit went as follows: houndstooth skirt, white button up, heels (kind of.) The usual. I wish that J. Crew priced everything like Forever 21 does, but I guess they’re not getting my e-mails.
Another facet of office dress that gets me is the heels. It hurts so good to wear these things, but I just can’t handle them full time, and don’t understand those who do. But the worst part of my heel conundrum is that I feel more adult when I wear them, more comfortable when I’m wearing flats, and scared when I realize I might always have this preference, thus stunting my growth. Today, the heels I wore were perfect suede, office-appropriate peeptoes. The shoes I wore in the subway, on my way to the printer (a 200 meter walk) and to the cafeteria were my chewed up Rainbow flip flops (in my defense, they were the most expensive pair of flip flops I’ve ever bought). It’s dawned on me that I might never grow into heels, although I’ve found a few pairs that work better for daily use- a little lower of a heel, a little strappier.
My mom always jokes that I still look like I’m five years old, especially when I have my hair pulled backed, with no make-up. It’s true. My only solace is that my sister, who is four years older than I am, actually looks younger than I do. So unless we slap on the black eyeliner, impossible heels, and low-cut shirts, we’ll probably get carded until we’re 40. I think I’ve had this obsession with maturity all my life: I’m a walking
version of “13 Going on 30,” except I didn’t get the magic glitter dust treatment, and Jennifer Garner is a pro at walking in heels.
Last night (Thursday night) , I went out to dinner with my step-dad, came back and studied for my Italian quiz, and picked out an outfit very haphazardly. I only realized that my hair was doing a weird flippy thing and my blazer didn’t exactly match my dress until I was looking at myself in the mirror in the office’s bathroom. So, I used a rubber band as a makeshift hair band (yes, resorting to office supplies as hair accessories is one of my favorite past times) and did the best I could to not look like a total disaster. And then I wrote my first blog and had one of the most productive days I’ve had so far. So, I don’t know how much dress correlates with success? At the interview, I didn’t even take my coat off, despite a fantastic outfit.
So, in the end, I guess what I’m saying is: Mom and Dad, send Banana Republic and sensible heels (JK! I don’t even think you guys read this?)