Don’t judge a book by its cover – that’s the moral to most of Aesop’s fables, Disney films, fairy tales, and the Jane Austen classic, Pride and Prejudice. Alright Aesop, Walt, Misters Grimm and Miss Austen, your points are taken. I keep an open mind and an open heart as I embark on each day’s journey. But why, then, do I, and many others, shop blinded by the blinkers of our prejudices?
I only realized how prejudiced I was towards the end of last year at Laura Ashley. I’ve always liked Laura Ashley clothes and home wares, partly because my lovely AuntyC’s house embodies the Laura Ashley aesthetic, and partly because I am a sucker for anything floral and feminine. However, I’d remained a window shopper in Laura Ashley. Cost, certainly, kept the plastic in my purse, as well as the tendency for Laura Ashley clothes to be a bit soggy and loose around the waist. Also, as much as I liked the florality (my new word for the week) at Laura Ashley, the frocks always looked too English country matron. On my tall, bosomy frame, the overall impression was of a prettily upholstered sofa (Do sit down, Vicar, and how do you take your tea?)
One afternoon I was enjoying my window shopping when I spied something black on the rack. Something black, with a big chunky zipper, and a non-soggy waist. I immediately tried it on.
SHOCK. HORROR. This was a third date dress – sexy, sleek, not quite tits on toast but tits definitely present and accounted for – from LAURA ASHLEY.
And it was on sale. How could I not buy it?
Return trips produced two finds in a similar genre – one with short sleeves, the other in lipstick red. The joy (and compliments) I get from these dresses makes me wonder, though, why I didn’t consider Laura Ashley as a venue for anything other than florality. Like Elizabeth Bennett, my prejudice almost kept me from something truly wonderful, although, in my case, dresses rather than Darcy were my reward for taking off the blinkers of prejudice.
Another challenge to my prejudices occurred when I was shopping with MamaK at Blue Illusion, AKA, The Mum Shop. If you’ve been past a store, you’ll know what I mean - the demographic they are aiming for are well heeled ladies of a certain age, stocking an admittedly lovely selection of linen tunic style dresses and loose pants, beads, and drapey tops. Great stuff, if, as I said, you’re a woman of a certain age. While MamaK was trying on the tunics and drapey tops, I spied with my little eye some funky printed jersey dresses- one printed all over with red and white love hearts, the other with what looked like an abstract print but actually was blue and purple butterflies. As both were on an awesome special, they came home with me, and MamaK and I left The Mum Shop satisfied with our purchases.
The next day at work, my particularly stylish colleague, Seraphina Silas, stopped me to talk about my dress – the butterfly printed one from The Mum Shop. I told her the story of The Mum Shop, and she astutely pointed out that perhaps it was a deliberate strategy of providing something that the daughters as well as the mums would like at The Mum Shop, and, by extension, at Laura Ashley.
Be that as it may, though, it’s still something to consider when doing the rounds at the Canberra Centre this weekend. Whilst our prejudices are often based, to some extent, on the fact of market manipulation, they may be keeping us from that perfect dress for our date with Mr Darcy.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Too Hard, Too Soft, Just Right: A Sparkling Interview Outfit
As I might have mentioned a couple of times here lately, there have been some job interviews happening. I’m not going to jinx anything by naming names here, suffice to say that if we were in a Harry Potter novel, I’d be the witch beavering away at finishing her OWLS, hoping to join one of the Ministry of Magic’s departments at the beginning of next year.
Having not had any sort of job interview in 4 years, I’d lost my bearings regarding appropriate interview wear. Whilst I like what I wear and do a good job being professional in my current context, Professor Professional simply won’t cut it for an interview at the Ministry.
If I were a boy, (cough, young man, cough cough), the decision would have been made for me – suit, clean and ironed shirt, tie, haircut. Maybe cufflinks, but probably not.
I am not a boy, or a young man - I am a woman. And so interview attire, like so many other things in life, becomes considerably more complicated.
I did think about going the LadySuit route, but was turned off by the price tag, and the lack of suitably fitting top and bottom parings within even the upper echelons of my budget. Another consideration is that I tend to be a nervous fidgeter. The combination of Jacket, Blouse, Skirt, Tights and Shoes would present one’s fingers with too many irresistible fidgety temptations. I just knew I’d spend the better part of the day running to and from the bathrooms checking that all the components were sitting right.
And even if they were sitting right, am I the LadySuit type? I think there’s something a little too hard about all that matching suiting fabric, firmly tucked in and buttoned up. Those of us who have done our fashion history homework know modern suiting is mainly influenced by military garb, and I am not sure that I am the ship-shape-and-bristol-fashion type.
Another option was the skirt, blouse and cardigan combination. Theoretically, I thought this was a brilliant idea, a kind of softly-softly response the LadySuit. Trying on various permutations of this look during my fashion montage a couple of weeks ago, however, gave me a new insight into the problems faced by many a soviet nation: theory is good in theory, not so much in practice.
Like goldilocks, I was placed in a situation where two extremes were presented to me, neither appealing – the LadySuit too hard, the skirt, blouse and cardigan too soft. What, I wondered, would be Just Right?
I thought about the two and a bit years that I have been writing this blog, reflecting on what clothes and style mean to me. What do I always return to, without fail? What garments do I feel most at ease, and most myself, in?
The answer was simple. The Dress.
Like Australian politicians reverting to knee-jerk reactionism (but I digress, this is not a political blog…) dresses are what I rely on when everything else it too hard or complicated. From my Miss Honeys, to my Ms Buttroses, my favorite summer frocks, to my jersey farmers market throw-ons, dresses are what I wear the most. Why would I abandon my signature look for this exciting new enterprise?
The field was successful and swiftly narrowed to one particular dress – a Mimi Goss cast off, black, sleeveless, modest yet figure defining, with a charming folded-fabric detail at the collar. A cardigan, for warmth and to cover the upper arms (which apparently are ‘unprofessional’ – who knew?) would complete the look. After a moment of hesitation, I decided on a cropped, three quarter sleeve, charcoal grey number with subtle but sparkly beading at the collar.
I wondered – is it appropriate to be just a teensy bit sparkly in a job interview? But then I realized that’s the whole point of a job interview - to sparkle. And I was Just Right.
Author’s note: At the time of writing, my favorite interview dress is half way around the world, with MamaK and PapaK, to serve as a template for several duplicates they are generously having made. Before my interview dress and I are reunited, I have two more interviews – so I guess it’s back to the drawing board for me!
Having not had any sort of job interview in 4 years, I’d lost my bearings regarding appropriate interview wear. Whilst I like what I wear and do a good job being professional in my current context, Professor Professional simply won’t cut it for an interview at the Ministry.
If I were a boy, (cough, young man, cough cough), the decision would have been made for me – suit, clean and ironed shirt, tie, haircut. Maybe cufflinks, but probably not.
I am not a boy, or a young man - I am a woman. And so interview attire, like so many other things in life, becomes considerably more complicated.
I did think about going the LadySuit route, but was turned off by the price tag, and the lack of suitably fitting top and bottom parings within even the upper echelons of my budget. Another consideration is that I tend to be a nervous fidgeter. The combination of Jacket, Blouse, Skirt, Tights and Shoes would present one’s fingers with too many irresistible fidgety temptations. I just knew I’d spend the better part of the day running to and from the bathrooms checking that all the components were sitting right.
And even if they were sitting right, am I the LadySuit type? I think there’s something a little too hard about all that matching suiting fabric, firmly tucked in and buttoned up. Those of us who have done our fashion history homework know modern suiting is mainly influenced by military garb, and I am not sure that I am the ship-shape-and-bristol-fashion type.
Another option was the skirt, blouse and cardigan combination. Theoretically, I thought this was a brilliant idea, a kind of softly-softly response the LadySuit. Trying on various permutations of this look during my fashion montage a couple of weeks ago, however, gave me a new insight into the problems faced by many a soviet nation: theory is good in theory, not so much in practice.
Like goldilocks, I was placed in a situation where two extremes were presented to me, neither appealing – the LadySuit too hard, the skirt, blouse and cardigan too soft. What, I wondered, would be Just Right?
I thought about the two and a bit years that I have been writing this blog, reflecting on what clothes and style mean to me. What do I always return to, without fail? What garments do I feel most at ease, and most myself, in?
The answer was simple. The Dress.
Like Australian politicians reverting to knee-jerk reactionism (but I digress, this is not a political blog…) dresses are what I rely on when everything else it too hard or complicated. From my Miss Honeys, to my Ms Buttroses, my favorite summer frocks, to my jersey farmers market throw-ons, dresses are what I wear the most. Why would I abandon my signature look for this exciting new enterprise?
The field was successful and swiftly narrowed to one particular dress – a Mimi Goss cast off, black, sleeveless, modest yet figure defining, with a charming folded-fabric detail at the collar. A cardigan, for warmth and to cover the upper arms (which apparently are ‘unprofessional’ – who knew?) would complete the look. After a moment of hesitation, I decided on a cropped, three quarter sleeve, charcoal grey number with subtle but sparkly beading at the collar.
I wondered – is it appropriate to be just a teensy bit sparkly in a job interview? But then I realized that’s the whole point of a job interview - to sparkle. And I was Just Right.
Author’s note: At the time of writing, my favorite interview dress is half way around the world, with MamaK and PapaK, to serve as a template for several duplicates they are generously having made. Before my interview dress and I are reunited, I have two more interviews – so I guess it’s back to the drawing board for me!
Monday, June 6, 2011
A School For Gifted Youngsters
Have you seen X Men: First Class yet?
If not, do yourself a favor and go see it. Kitty Gilfeather and I treated ourselves to a late night showing this Friday and, although the only seats we could book were neck-straining close to the screen, it was two and a bit hours of fantastic.
I’ve adored the X-Men series, eagerly awaiting the release of each installment, and spent a large part of Saturday re-watching them as a necessary self indulgence (it was cold and blustery in the Capital, and I’d already went for an early morning walk and yoga session –indulgence justified). I was also a fan of the animated TV series as a child, and passed many an hour concentrating super hard in order to achieve Jean Grey levels of telepathy.
More than Jean or any of the other mutants, though, it was Professor X who fascinated me. Along with Misses Honey and Clavel, Professors Lupin and Dumbledore, and many inspiring real life ladies and gentlemen, Professor X and his School for Gifted Youngsters has shaped my attitudes towards education.
Indeed, sometimes I cast myself as the Professor X of my own imaginary School for Gifted Youngsters. And, in light of a couple of thousand words on teaching I am supposed to be writing (and am procrastinating against by writing this blog), I’ve been wondering what my own School for Gifted Youngsters would be like.
For starters, it would be open to all who wanted to learn, regardless of capability, because even the most capable student in the world won’t achieve anything if they don’t want to. There’s nothing worse or more soul destroying than a class of students who don’t want to be there.
Having said that, though, my school would be staffed by men and women with superpowers – not like Storm and Jean and Cyclops, but men and women with superpowers to make people want to learn. Powers of compassion, of understanding, and of love. And also by men and women who would work together as a team – to defeat Magnito, sure, but to also pick up the slack when things and people go pear shaped.
A very hairy and very shirtless Hugh Jackman would prowl the school grounds (I’m serious about this one).
And speaking of grounds, my School for Gifted Youngsters would, like Professor X’s, be housed in a building that inspires, surrounded by clean air and trees, to remind my Gifted Youngsters that there are things bigger and more permanent than themselves and their problems.
But also, my school would teach that their problems, hopes and fears, just like the mutations of Professor X’s students, could be used to make things better, for themselves and for everybody else. And that they alone were responsible for making this choice.
I’d also insist on ties for the boys, and neat blouses and skirts for the girls. But perhaps that’s an overindulgence of some megalomaniac tendencies???
If not, do yourself a favor and go see it. Kitty Gilfeather and I treated ourselves to a late night showing this Friday and, although the only seats we could book were neck-straining close to the screen, it was two and a bit hours of fantastic.
I’ve adored the X-Men series, eagerly awaiting the release of each installment, and spent a large part of Saturday re-watching them as a necessary self indulgence (it was cold and blustery in the Capital, and I’d already went for an early morning walk and yoga session –indulgence justified). I was also a fan of the animated TV series as a child, and passed many an hour concentrating super hard in order to achieve Jean Grey levels of telepathy.
More than Jean or any of the other mutants, though, it was Professor X who fascinated me. Along with Misses Honey and Clavel, Professors Lupin and Dumbledore, and many inspiring real life ladies and gentlemen, Professor X and his School for Gifted Youngsters has shaped my attitudes towards education.
Indeed, sometimes I cast myself as the Professor X of my own imaginary School for Gifted Youngsters. And, in light of a couple of thousand words on teaching I am supposed to be writing (and am procrastinating against by writing this blog), I’ve been wondering what my own School for Gifted Youngsters would be like.
For starters, it would be open to all who wanted to learn, regardless of capability, because even the most capable student in the world won’t achieve anything if they don’t want to. There’s nothing worse or more soul destroying than a class of students who don’t want to be there.
Having said that, though, my school would be staffed by men and women with superpowers – not like Storm and Jean and Cyclops, but men and women with superpowers to make people want to learn. Powers of compassion, of understanding, and of love. And also by men and women who would work together as a team – to defeat Magnito, sure, but to also pick up the slack when things and people go pear shaped.
A very hairy and very shirtless Hugh Jackman would prowl the school grounds (I’m serious about this one).
And speaking of grounds, my School for Gifted Youngsters would, like Professor X’s, be housed in a building that inspires, surrounded by clean air and trees, to remind my Gifted Youngsters that there are things bigger and more permanent than themselves and their problems.
But also, my school would teach that their problems, hopes and fears, just like the mutations of Professor X’s students, could be used to make things better, for themselves and for everybody else. And that they alone were responsible for making this choice.
I’d also insist on ties for the boys, and neat blouses and skirts for the girls. But perhaps that’s an overindulgence of some megalomaniac tendencies???
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