Urbane Female

In the mornings, weather and train timeliness permitting, I walk from Salford Central to St. Peter's Square. I like it, it gives me a chance to move my legs (something that doesn't happen nearly enough) and I breathe some non-germified train air (traded in for some delicious Manchester pollution.)

And I enjoy my walks very much, except for the slow walkers. And slow walkers are inevitably women. They're women dressed in heels of some kind, usually boots, in uncomfortable suits on their way to the office. I dodge them in all manner of creative ways, the overtake, the cigarette, the 'accidental' nudge. I can't stand getting stuck behind some trundling mortgage advisor because she chose the 'fashionable' option instead of the practical one. And my trusty Docs are the reason I move so much faster, but they're a clothing accessory that got me a severe looking over by one of our customers yesterday. But screw her, I learned a long time ago that there are things that simply do not go with heeled boots.

They are:
1. Running for trains/trams
2. Walking to the shop on cobblestones
3. Walking faster than an elderly snail

But for the sake of fashion, most of the women I see trundling up New Bailey cripple themselves in bunion causing designer knock offs. Men wear Doc boots, or dress shoes that no matter how they pinch, aren't as bad as the worst sky high Anna Sui heel. Men get the better deal.

Yesterday morning I walked through the door to my office and was greeted by a good up and down look by one of our delegates. By the resulting look on her face, I was not up to par. What was so atrocious? I was wearing a black wool overcoat, a black v-neck angora sweater, brown trousers and my same Doc Marten boots. Nothing about that screams fashionable, but at the same time, it's all comfortable and doesn't scream hobo either. Doing my job, I never know when I'll have to crawl around under a table to fix a cable, or carry a PC from classroom to office. I never know when I'll have to wrap myself around the back of our pissy little server rack to find a reset switch, or do some basic DIY. It's the nature of the beast. A button down shirt, most slacks, most women's shoes would result in all kinds of creative injuries. I'm not going to slip off a ladder and break my damned neck for the sake of fitting in with the Hello! crowd.

Plus, regardless of the tomboyish rigors of my job, I was still business casual. What does it matter if I wasn't wearing killer heels like her instructor, or a 2-piece Liz Claiborne suit with an overpriced Karen Millen top? What does it matter if the only make-up I wear in the morning is some Lush moisturizer? And most days my hair is tucked back in a low pony tail or messy bun? Who says I have to wear make-up? Frankly, our dress code is so loose that as long as I don't turn up in a boob tube and jeans Monday-Thursday I'm in the clear.

My employers seem to agree, I'm always ignored when the internal 'look more professional' e-mails go out. For the most part, what I wear is clean (if covered in blonde hair) pressed, not that worn and simple. But by the look this woman gave me, you'd think I was dressed in hotpants and thigh high hooker boots. I should mention, she was wearing what you'd expect from a woman going to work. She even had the typical Manchester hairstyle: paper straight. (There's a right way and a wrong way to use GHDs ladies.) What about women wearing simple clothes is so deeply unacceptable?

I think I have the winning ticket over Miss Dirty Look 2008. My shoes are comfortable, have good soles that won't shock the ankles or knees. My trousers were kind of stretchy and a little loose, good give for bending over and picking things up. My sweater was functional and warm without showing cleavage. Even my undergarments were practical, except my boy style underwear had little brown and yellow skulls on them. What she had on probably required a push up bra due to the poor cut of her jacket, stomach scrunching undies, thanks to the A-line, and Scholls party feet so she wasn't bleeding my the end of the day. Me:1 Her:0

I do groom a bit during the week, of course. There's nothing quite like the whispy feeling of wind going through the hair on my mole to get me to pluch. I find a pair of pliers and the back of my iPod works well for taking care of that. (Me:2 Her:0, I always have a way to pluck at work.) I shave my legs because I hate the itchy feeling I get if I don't. I shave my pits because, frankly, bacteria loves hairy dark places and I dislike smelling. One of my huge girly vices is perfume. I have tons of it, made by various people. At the moment I'm wearing something I bought from Victoria's Secret that smells like spring. I moisturize because I smoke and I'm already getting some creases around my mouth.

If you've seen me at ARA or Jilly's then you know I do actually have a decently feminine wardrobe. In Portland I bought a adorable Oscar de la Renta dress from Buffalo Exchange that I thought I was going to have to fight for to get out of the store. (I heard 'OhMyGodThat'sSoCute' about 6 times between the fitting room and the counter.) But all that ARA shit takes around 2 hours to put together. And while I love dressing up for games, or to go out, I don't want to waste my morning putting it all together to work on computers. For one thing, people might get the wrong idea about what I do and think I'm an Office Manager or Belle du Jour. For another, I'd rather be drinking my coffee, watching BBC breakfast and pulling on my shoes. There's more to life than grooming. With my morning shower I take about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning. I know for a fact some of these girls are getting up at 6:30am to do full face, hair and outfit selection. I'd miss CSI:Miami on Tuesdays if I did that and that's more important to me than fitting into some dated notion of what it means to be an office working female.

I was really encouraged to read something today where women echoed my sentiments. I think living in the Manchester area where women really push it out (even in fucking trackies these girls have enough make-up on to recreate 10 Mona Lisas) I forget that there are some places in the world where brown trousers and a black angora sweater won't get you a nasty once over, or a suggestion you're a lesbian. It also takes me half the time to walk up John Dalton, that's well worth it. And really, shouldn't it be that way all the time everywhere?

http://www.observer.com/2008/urbane-tomboys via Jezebel