Women of my generation -- before we burned our bras and wore skirts shorter than tunics -- would not have been caught dead in Sunday morning's pew without make-up, heels, hose, a dress with a jacket (no bare arms, period) and gloves (those little white ones.) In some places, a hat was also required every Sunday, not just at Easter.
Women of my generation -- assuming we had the good sense not to dress like our teenage daughters and to put the bra back on -- consider business casual to mean a pair of slacks and a matching jacket, slightly lower heels and no hat. It makes me irritable to have the obligatory dress code discussions. Sigh. Shouldn't they just know? Makes me feel crone-like when I yammer away at the no-Spandex on interviews with the mayor rules.
But, do it I do. Because for whatever the reaasons -- and they are legion, starting with the bra burning and backside-uncovered skirts of my youth -- we just don't have much sense of what's proper in a workplace these days.
It's easier for the boys: collared shirt, tie, slacks, jacket, hard shoes and socks. There's not much room for error with those basics. But for the girls? Oh dear. No flip flops. OK, I get that, but what about the cute, strappy sandals that LOOK like flip flops, but aren't? Egads, the splitting of hairs.
The newsroom dress code is pretty simple: We are a professional work environment and we deal with the public. Dress accordingly.
I've periodically had to spell out the "accordingly." No Spandex. Age- and size-appropriate. No jeans; not even the designer ones. No skin. No visible underwear. No pajamas. No shorts. And, yes, you have to cover your legs: socks, hose. No bare legs even in the summer. No clevage. No sneakers and t-shirts.
Yeah, women of my generation, we shake our heads and wonder: Don't they know? But, no, they don't. No one taught them and they dress their little girls like sluts and let their teenagers bare skin like Brittany. They dressed like that in college, and figure, what the heck, why not at work, too.
So, we have to teach adults what would best have been learned at their mothers' knees. We were, however, too busy burning bras and shortening our skirts. Smile, it's OK. That's what old folks do: teach. That's what younguns do: test the limits.