Wardrobe Willies

At salon tonight, our leader, Janet P.,  divided us into two groups, two separate rooms.  We were to write down what the people in the other room were wearing.

Had she asked us to write about Charlotte's colorful house, I could have done much better--but I was only able to identify the color of blouses and jewelry, not much about shoes and socks and pants.

This was our introduction to this month's topic: what stories do our clothes tell about us?

I have never been interested in fashion magazines and keeping up with current styles; I am--as Janet O. said, more of a Bohemian: I pick up something here, something there, and throw it together, rarely if ever shopping at an actual mall.  My closet is fairly sparse.

It turned out to be a lively discussion--as our salons always are--though I haven't given enough thought to clothing of late to add much to the conversation.  But I did have one twenty-year-old memory:

At the time, I worked for a short time as a consultant for a government agency, traveling to different cities to teach workshops in communication.  During National Secretary's Week, I was asked to give the same keynote address to five different assemblies of secretaries.  The topic was Dressing for Success!

I was then--as I would be now--the last person you'd want to advise you on anything wardrobe-related.  My real job was teaching college students, and I usually did that in blue jeans, long flowey blouses, and Birkenstocks.

Linda Kot was visiting from Cape Cod, and we went to JC Penney's to begin our crash course.  Long story short, I got myself a red suit and some beige naturalizer "high-heeled" shoes and wrote up a speech.  For an entire week, I traipsed through airports carrying my new shoes in my hands, my feet in agony.

When I walked into each hotel ballroom, filled with secretaries who were elegantly dressed and coiffed and accessorized, I felt like the impostor I was!  What could I tell these women about dressing for success, beyond what I'd just read the previous week and what the JC Penney's clerk had told me in my five-minute crash course?

Apparently, I had the chutzpah to carry it off--or at least say my few words quickly and segue into the  chocolate mousse.

At the end of that week, I had the good sense to resign and return to the blue jeans and chalk dusty classrooms where I felt more at home. The Probably-Polyester red suit and the Naturalizer heels were vigorously tossed into a big green plastic bag and delivered to Goodwill.  I hope that whoever wound up with those clothes has met with uncommon success.