Wardrobe
Same Old, Same Old
When I was in high school, one of the schools I went to had uniforms. They were simple, blue blazers for both the girls and the boys. The boys wore ties and blue slacks. The girls wore blue tartan skirts and navy blue knee socks. You could wear your choice of footwear, though nobody in those days got all that creative with it. For instance, if any nun anywhere in the building had a problem with whatever you were wearing, she’d certainly have something to say about it.
One of the things we girls did was the instant we were out of the house we would roll up our skirts. In those days girls were wearing miniskirts. Our uniform skirts hit us mid-knee. One other thing we had leeway with were the sweaters we wore and those got as loud as you might imagine. No sequins in those days, but I’m sure if sweaters had come with them, we would certainly be wearing them.
Although you might think wearing a uniform would be deadly dull, I found it freeing. I did not have to wonder what I was going to wear and if it was stylish or fashionable. Those choices were taken away from me and I was never happier with the setup.
I had enough problems with self-image then and for years afterward, that being dressed much like everybody else was in my school was a relief.
The years went by. I went to two more schools after that before I graduated and for a while went to college. After that, I was married and then entered the work world. Some jobs were in offices where we were required to look professional. I had other jobs where I was able to dress simply and wear pants.
The last job I had before I retired nobody really cared what we wore. So, I wore pants. It was a relief not having to fiddle with pantyhose and all that stuff. I was there for so many years, at least 24 at the end of it, that at some point I thought to myself, “What if I wear the same clothes every day? Is anybody going to notice?” In those days I was overweight and buying my shirts which I wore open from the men’s department. I always wore a black tee shirt underneath. I always wore black pants, so the only thing that changed was the outer shirt. I loved loud Hawaiian shirts. I felt like the black was a great background for the colorful shirts.
I did an experiment. I wore the same outer shirt day, after day, after day. It didn’t get dirty because I would change the black tee shirt I wore underneath every day. Nobody ever said anything. Ever. Eventually, I got tired of it and went back to changing the outer shirt more often.
Later, after I retired, I spoke to one of my co-workers in the office and told her about the experiment I’d conducted. She said to me, “You know I wondered about that at the time, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
I thought it was funny. In a sense, I had a uniform. It made life easier.