PJs and Power Suits
Finding peace somewhere in-between
By: Kelly Keenan Trumpbour
I work out of my home office, and neither my cat nor my husband is picky about the dress code. In fact, I had to dissuade my husband of the notion that hot pants and a see-through bra is not what Cokie Roberts would wear if she worked from home. Not that I would know. Hell, maybe she does.
As someone who opted out, I don’t have to make my looks conform to anyone’s expectations. And with that, I figured I had reached a level of feminist nirvana. The reflection I see in the mirror needs only please me and me alone. Ommmmmm.
Except I sometimes feel this vague disappointment that the killer suits I once expected to wear on a daily basis now sit idle. Sure, I could parade around in an Anne Klein ensemble, but it’s itchy and the dry cleaning bills would be astronomical.
I could just let myself go. I forgo trips to the salon even though there is a growing disparity between my natural roots and my three month old dye job. But really, who will notice?
Then I go to the other extreme. My girlfriends invite me out and I show up looking slightly more casual then someone attending the Oscars. Um, no, of course I didn’t just spend two hours plucking my eyebrows, flat ironing my hair and doing my makeup like Bobbi Brown was holding me hostage. Why yes, these are new clothes! I just bought them in 2004.
Somewhere between pajamas and power suits is where my wardrobe falls these days. I like getting dressed up, and I do so every chance I get. But I love my work and it sure beats the shallow predictability of the perfectly coifed offices I left behind. Besides, dark roots are totally in right now.