Caught in Uniform

Once upon a time I was a little Catholic school girl. The day began and ended with a prayer, and Religion class was sandwiched between Reading and Math in the daily schedule. But the truth is, my Catholic education wasn't so much defined by devout reflection and intellectual faith-based questioning, but rather what's on the forefront of most tween-aged girls' minds--clothes. Oh, right, and let's not forget jewelry, shoes, hair accessories, and nail polish. The difference was, our means of self-expression was constrained by a little something called a uniform.
It amazes me to think back on how much a simple pleated skirt and white polo managed to rule our lives. But trust me, it did. A skirt that was too long or a polo that was a) monogrammed, b) yellowed, or c) clearly your brother's hand-me-down earned you the unspoken label of "uncool"--a.k.a. the surest route to unpopularity.
In sixth grade, girls were allowed to add a new item to their school wardrobe. Drum roll please... the box-pleated skirt. This skirt was truly a coming of age wardrobe essential. Forget about the fact that the uniform shop charged an arm and a leg for the thing. If you didn't get the box-pleated skirt, then clearly you might as well go back to the fifth grade. (The fifth graders were relinquished to the accordion-pleated skirt-- the much less figure-flattering alternative). Of course, in sixth grade, dress code wasn't the only thing changing in our young lives. While I myself have blocked out most memories of this beyond-awkward time of my life, I do seem to recall that boys suddenly lost their "cooties" and girls had incentive to show a bit more leg than before. We did this with the infamous waistband roll-up. It did the trick unless, of course, you got caught.
But when I come down from this nostalgic cloud filled with Power Beads, Lip Smackers, and Baby Gs, I realize that we never really graduate from uniforms. Life is filled with them, in fact. Just yesterday I was (reluctantly) at the gym and thought to myself, wow, you can totally tell who's a Gen Yer and who's not. Sprinkled among a sea of courageous workout moms wearing spandex shorts and fitted tops are college girls like me wearing loose V-necks, colored sports bras, and Nike running shorts. The generational distinction between exercise "uniforms" is not only ironic but also extremely amusing to anyone as desperate as I am to find distractions during my seemingly never-ending countdown on the elliptical trainer.
So when you go about your day, I challenge you to play a little game of I Spy. How many uniforms do you see? (And I'm not talking about the kind employees wear at your local grocery store.) More importantly, which one are you wearing?

It's Internship Season

Ah, sweet summertime. It's everything I've been waiting for since Mother Nature first teased me with a balmy 60-degree day of sunshine back in March. Right when I thought it was safe to pull out the sundresses and sandals (a.k.a. my "warm weather uniform"), chilly Northern winds said otherwise, forcing me to remain trapped beneath layers of maraschino wool and quilted down feathers. And I wondered why I was severely deficient in Vitamin D?
A lot's changed since those climatically-volatile days back in March. I packed up camp and headed out of my Midwestern college town (barely deserving of the title "college town", I might add) after a notoriously draining round of final exams in May. But on my drive home, I had a startling thought. You're starting your internship next week, Katherine. With female co-workers (which obviously increases the pressure to dress the part). AND...you don't have an updated professional wardrobe. Gasp. Well, I mean, not really. I'm never one to turn down an opportunity to shop (like mother, like daughter...thanks, Mom.), so I actually welcome an excuse to venture into the retail tundra. While I try to buy classic pieces that don't go out of style from one season to the next, let's face it--there's something about walking in on your first day wearing a new power suit or killer LBD that just screams "Watch out world, there's a new girl on the block."
In the several hours I had to mull over the season's must-haves in my mind, I realized that this summer wardrobe would be different than in years past. I would be moving into that awkward life stage that's not quite independent adulthood, but certainly not carefree youth, either (channeling some Britney Spears here). It would be a new kind of season. Ah, of course. Why didn't I think of it before.

Internship season:
in-tern-ship sea-son, n.
an appetizer of sorts before Millennials everywhere sink their teeth into the "real" working world


Sharpen your pencil skirts and grab hold of some coffee and cigarette pants. It's time to get down to business.