Though it’s been 6 years since I walked into high school for the first time wearing ragged jeans and my younger brother’s T-shirt, my taste in clothing hasn’t changed. I’m most comfortable in the shirt and jeans that have gone through the washer so many times they hang together by three threads.
Which is one of the explanations for why last weekend was so challenging.
On Thursday, I had job/internship interviews with The Miami Herald and The St. Petersburg Times. An event that requires the full pantsuit and heels. The interviews went very well, in fact, the best I’ve had yet.
Friday evening was the cocktail event for the Alligator’s 2nd Century Celebration. A little less formal, but military boots paired with a skirt: Not cocktail material. I met some really interesting people and I had a great time, but at midnight I was really glad to walk home in my socks.
Then on Saturday, the Celebration was in full swing. As the new media managing editor, I had to sit up on the dais. I know everyone was too busy talking and eating to look at me, but I’m not the most graceful eater…so I kept my mouth shut.
My parents would be delighted to learn that I’ve finally entered the realm of professionalism, I can dress myself without being an embarrassment and I’ll keep the heels on until midnight. (Which is when I assume everyone is too tired or inebriated to look at my feet.)
I understand that appearances matter and that I’ll never get rid of the heels for good. As one of my professors pointed out: I’d hate to lose a good job to a moron who dressed up because I dressed down. But I don’t have to like it.
This week, I ran into a professor who had seen all three versions of “dressed-up me.” “Now, there’s the Megan I recognize.” As much as I look forward to life after college, I’ll enjoy my jeans and t-shirts as long as I can. Mom always did warn me not to grow up too fast.