dress code
I needed to open a bank account by October 12 to get an advance on my salary. This cash would buy me beers, which would help me make friends. But I couldn’t drink too many beers because I had to wake up at five-thirty to get to school on time. My fellow teachers would like me for my punctuality, and they would like me more if I looked nice.
Last summer, as I entered the working world, I wracked my head trying to decode the definitions of business casual and business professional. But all the effort went to waste in France, where I am an English language assistant in a professional high school. My American definitions did not successfully translate in my new workplace.
I thought that blazers, briefcases, pumps and lipstick were elements of companies’ dress codes all over the world. My own motto was personal professional: black pants, a white blouse and a great smile. This seemed to be a safe tactic since bankers, waiters, bus drivers and lawyers have been known to wear this trusty ensemble for years.
When I saw the high school girls, some only two years my junior, wearing stilettos, nylons, and mascara so thick I could only make out four spiky lashes, I knew I had prude professional written all over my high-waisted, pleated pants. Introducing myself to the faculty was worse. I could not believe so many teachers were strutting around in skinny jeans and clean Converse sneakers. The women had beautiful skin and wore hardly any make-up; the men lounged around with bed-head and untucked shirttails. I looked at my black shoes and blushed as they morphed into orthotics and I wanted to lick the rouge off my lips. Compared to these adults, I was a girl in Grandma Casual. I miscalculated the English Assistant uniform and I cursed my trusty equation. Overwhelmed, I sweated right through my inoffensive blouse and traditional slacks.
But as I shuffled through the day, I noticed a link between the students and the teachers. Kenzo eau de toilette swirled around the hallways, from the staffroom to the classrooms. Everyone smelled the same except for me. I promised myself that a spritz of this aroma could redress any outfit. I would save for a bottle when I opened my account, even if it meant a fewer beers and fewer friends.
Six weeks into the job, I no longer feel like a grandma at work. The motto is now Whatever the Young American English Assistant Wears to Work Will Be Fine, and you will be pleased to hear that I have not sacrificed beers for perfume. Like any good Midwesterner, I save my money to buy Heines because it rhymes with Leinies, and I save a few bottles for my friends.
