Just a girl

Day 1
I don’t receive my assignment’s dresses until I get into work on Monday, so I come in wearing these cute red heels that have been more of a shoe-rack decoration than footwear, and some turquoise knee-highs with black polka-dots, paired with a regular skirt and T-shirt. I’m having a tough time stumbling to the train, but one woman says my socks and shoes are cute, so I feel better. I start talking about not being to walk in heels and then realize she has her left foot bandanged and in a slipper, and that I should probably shove a sock in it.

When I get to work, I put on a crisp cotton khaki knee-length dress from Banana Republic that ties around the waist (it seems to be the least unassuming of my three choices). When I go to strut my stuff, Check Out writer Kevin Aeh says, “Aw, now look at that little figure you’ve been hiding!” Associate features editor Cecilia Wong looks at me and tells me my shoes are too big. I look down and realize I look like Daisy Duck. No wonder I had trouble walking to the El. “Why did you buy them?” she asks. I have no idea, I say—because I’m kind of a tomboy?

Sports editor Tim McCormick says that I should be careful: if it gets out that I’m wearing Banana Republic, I could lose some serious indie cred (for the record, I actually like Banana Republic). Our editor-in-chief Chad Schlegel says, “I thought the whole idea was for you to show some leg.” When I go into my weekly Out There meeting, senior editor Laura Baginski just smiles and kind of yelps, and I jokingly tell her to shut up because I’m embarrassed. “No, but it looks good!” she says “And it’s still very much Leah.” Aw.

Day 2
I was given three dresses to wear over the five days, so I decide to see if I can’t unearth one from my closet for a day—and not wear it over a pair of pants. I pull out a black cotton button-down short-sleeve shirt dress from H&M, and put on some white fishnets and a pair of really cute John Fluevog heels I bought a year ago and have never worn (I had John Fluevog himself sign them in gold paint pen). My roommate says, “Wow, you’re tall.”

As I’m walking to my desk at work, I feel like I’m in an episode of that lame (now-cancelled) reality TV show The Swan. At one point, two coworkers were on their chairs peering over the stop of the cubicle wall and one was stopped in her tracks. Whoa. “Leah where are your pants?”, photo director Nicole Radja yells (I usually wear them underneath a skirt or dress). Film writer Cliff Doerksen walks by and says, “You look very nice.” One my way to the kitchen, Around Town editor Madeline Nusser just laughs when she sees me. After about five minutes of pretending that I dress like this every day, music writer James Porter finally blurts out, “Okay, what’s his name and where’s he takin’ you tonight?” Eat Out editor Heather Shouse comes up to me and says, “Can you explain to me what’s going on?” Cecilia says, “We’re going to walk you in front of a construction site and see what happens.”

At the art meeting, I think I hear managing editor Amy Car say something with the word “hot” in it, and someone else suggests we should have a dress code at work. I reply, “You mean a slut code.” But really, I don’t feel like a slut, I guess—just a girl. The attention is kind of flattering, I have to admit.

Day 3
I get this idea in my head that maybe I can add my own flair to this one black-and-white flowy print dress from H&M with some ripped black fishnets. Actually, truth is—I don’t think I own any nylons that aren’t ripped or funky, just the white ones. I still manage some compliments, like, “Leah, your waist is so tiny!” and, “Is this some kind of experiment in elegance?”

Meanwhile, though, my heels and toes begin to suffer some serious damage. I am missing the stench and comfort of my three-year-old smelly Adidas. Every time I take a step I go, “Ow, ow, ow, owie.” I really want to go work out, but they won’t let me work out with shoes off the street and I can’t imagine walking four blocks in heels. They hurt so bad I actually started driving to work, or at least to the El station. Instead of asking for batteries as usual at the reception desk, I ask for a bunch of Band-Aids. I laugh to myself about this bizarre scenario of worker’s comp.

I manage to walk half a block to get lunch and run an errand, and everyone I encounter is very accommodating, like I’m someone totally important. I stop by my grandparents’ house after work and they are very pleased to see me in a dress (though my grandma wants to fix my stockings the second she sees them).

Day 4
When I told our Check Out staff that I was a size 8, everyone proclaimed that there was no way I was a size 8, I must be a size 6. This is what is going through my head as I try to pull on this dainty navy blue shirtdress with eyelet details from Ann Taylor to wear today. I attempt to pull it over my head thinking, “I told you guys…” The dress won't go on, and I soon realize that there’s a zipper on the side of the dress that you’re supposed to pull down before you put it on (which I had brilliantly managed to jam). What a frickin’ tomboy.

I try to wear the khaki dress from Banana Republic again with some black-and-white striped tights and get called out for cheating (I also got told I looked like Safari Barbie, ha). “The whole idea is to try something new,” Check Out editor Annie Tomlin says. I see her point and go into the bathroom to put the navy dress on and the white fishnets and I actually come out feeling like a new person, like I had just pulled myself out of the gutter or something. I feel like a babydoll, and I actually like it.

When I go over to drink wine at my friend’s art studio, I don’t feel out of place among the other people in T-shirts; I feel like a work of art myself and ready to take on the world. My friend Kenneth doesn’t say anything until I mention the experiment and he says, “Yes, I must say, you look very classy.” Classy yes, but I’m thinking to myself there’s no way I’d walk down the street at night by myself dressed like this—I’d feel way too vulnerable, which is why I think I never do dress this way. I don’t like feeling vulnerable. At the same time though, I feel empowered—like I’m a high-powered bitch saying “I’m ready to take on the world, so don’t fuck with me”—so I guess there’s a balance to strike.

Day 5
My shoe looked like it got its period today. Seriously. There’s a huge blood stain about the size of a half-dollar piece on the inside heel part of my Fluevogs, Yet I am determined to make it through deadline day. I had always said that heels are so impractical for me because of all the running around I do, but even with my flesh wounds, I still manage to get back and forth in the office fairly efficiently. Associate art director Lauren Kessinger tells me that I have nice legs. “I was surprised that you didn’t have like a huge dog bite scar on your leg or something,” she says, implying that must have been the reason why I never showed any leg.

As I walk down the street, I think about high heels as a kind of a metaphor for women in society. That they’re restricting, and that you can’t get ahead of someone who’s not wearing them (i.e., men). But then I see that there’s a certain silent power that women can hold by exerting a sense of femininity but still having control over certain situations, in both personal and work issues.

Overall thoughts:
Even before this whole experiment, a couple friends were telling me that I need to stop dressing like I’m in seventh grade. One friend has even gone so far as saying, “Leah, learn what a dress is, and go to a beauty parlor and have your hair done like a grown-up.” Ouch. But he was right. Dressing for success does make a difference. It makes me feel out of my element, but I’m acting like more of a grown-up because I’m dressed like one, too. And it doesn’t mean sacrificing your own style. I got so many compliments on my kick-ass shoes, and I loved wearing them even though they kicked my ass.

When I went out without my whole getup, the reactions from people were quite different. It’s nice being in a position where you don’t feel immediately at a disadvantage because of how you’re dressed. While I felt like I have been somewhat rebelling by not dressing nicely—like I was not giving in to some kind of societal expectation—I realized that was giving up on not giving myself a better shot in the career world. Plus, dressing up is totally fun, you get to take on a whole new persona. I am pumped to pick up some new pumps. And maybe even some new tights.