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work blather
Jan. 5th, 2009 12:17 amI had an "incident" at work a week or so ago with our new Director of Strategic Marketing that I've been brooding mulling over.
She was sitting in the break area with our Insurance Director and I had walked in to hand out some new keys (I'm the keymaster) because all of our locks had recently gotten changed. Now, keep in mind it's only her second week working with all of us.
her: So, you really do wear black every day, don't you?
me: Yep. Since I was 12.
her: I had started to wonder about it the other day when I first realized.
me: Yeah, you should see my closet. It's kind of funny. I've attempted to wear colors once in a while, but I've been doing this so long that it makes me uncomfortable to wear anything that isn't black. I like it, though.
Insurance Director: And it suits you.
her: You should totally go on one of those makeover shows.
More conversation happened after that, mostly me ranting about "those makeover shows" because all they would do is make me throw out all the clothes I've spent my hard-earned money on, cut my hair, tell me to cover my tattoos and take out my piercings. There was also a bit of soapboxing over unfair and unrealistic beauty standards being perpetuated by those shows. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of them.
And? She didn't get the hint. Not even in the least. She kept pushing the subject and trying to convince how good of an idea it was and I got pregressively angrier and more uncomfortable with the situation. It got to the point where I told her about how our previous accounts payable clerk made a joke about volunteering me for a show and how I told her if she ever did, she would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. And she still didn't get it.
At first, I was only slightly peeved by the entire affair. I'm used to hearing shit like this because I dress outside the norm and have done so for more years than most LJ users have been in existence on the planet. I can usually shrug it off. My boss, who had not been there that day, heard about this incident through the grapevine (another thing I'm annoyed about, because I wasn't going to tell her) and quizzed me about it, wanting to know if I wanted to make a complaint. And I told her I didn't.
But, the more I think about it- the more it bothers me.
God knows I'm not a fashion plate; I recognize this. However, I dress professionally (even if it is mainly all black and normally involves combat boots). I'm allowed to wear my piercings at work and have my tattoos visible, therefore I do. Shit, it's half the reason why I continue to work there. I've worked in uber-corporate environments and it sucks, but I can do it if I have to. My clothes may not be found on the pages of Vogue, but I do have a sense of style. It's just my own style.
But, this chick thinks she can just waltz in and dole out advice on my appearance? Who does she think she is?
On top of all of this is the constant talk in the office of everyone's weight (and I've complained about this before). Almost every single person in the office constantly bemoans how fat they are when very few of them actually are. Eating disorders seem to be de rigueur and that's quite annoying as well. They go on unrealistic diets, constantly scruntinize each other's food in addition to their own (that's always a party), talk about how they need to exercise, and ask our doctorboss (who runs a weight-loss service) for help. Fat is a dirty word.
I'm very open about being fat. How could I not be? You know as soon as you look at me. But, you should see their faces when I refer to myself as fat and not in a negative sense, but only in a descriptive way. It even happened on Friday which just passed.
I made a comment along the lines of not being able to find some article of clothing (it escapes me as to what, at the moment) at the fat girl store (my pet name for Lane Bryant). And our purchaser almost had a heart attack over it.
her: Don't call yourself that?
me: Why? Was it a secret?
She was horrified.
I don't get it.
She was sitting in the break area with our Insurance Director and I had walked in to hand out some new keys (I'm the keymaster) because all of our locks had recently gotten changed. Now, keep in mind it's only her second week working with all of us.
her: So, you really do wear black every day, don't you?
me: Yep. Since I was 12.
her: I had started to wonder about it the other day when I first realized.
me: Yeah, you should see my closet. It's kind of funny. I've attempted to wear colors once in a while, but I've been doing this so long that it makes me uncomfortable to wear anything that isn't black. I like it, though.
Insurance Director: And it suits you.
her: You should totally go on one of those makeover shows.
More conversation happened after that, mostly me ranting about "those makeover shows" because all they would do is make me throw out all the clothes I've spent my hard-earned money on, cut my hair, tell me to cover my tattoos and take out my piercings. There was also a bit of soapboxing over unfair and unrealistic beauty standards being perpetuated by those shows. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of them.
And? She didn't get the hint. Not even in the least. She kept pushing the subject and trying to convince how good of an idea it was and I got pregressively angrier and more uncomfortable with the situation. It got to the point where I told her about how our previous accounts payable clerk made a joke about volunteering me for a show and how I told her if she ever did, she would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. And she still didn't get it.
At first, I was only slightly peeved by the entire affair. I'm used to hearing shit like this because I dress outside the norm and have done so for more years than most LJ users have been in existence on the planet. I can usually shrug it off. My boss, who had not been there that day, heard about this incident through the grapevine (another thing I'm annoyed about, because I wasn't going to tell her) and quizzed me about it, wanting to know if I wanted to make a complaint. And I told her I didn't.
But, the more I think about it- the more it bothers me.
God knows I'm not a fashion plate; I recognize this. However, I dress professionally (even if it is mainly all black and normally involves combat boots). I'm allowed to wear my piercings at work and have my tattoos visible, therefore I do. Shit, it's half the reason why I continue to work there. I've worked in uber-corporate environments and it sucks, but I can do it if I have to. My clothes may not be found on the pages of Vogue, but I do have a sense of style. It's just my own style.
But, this chick thinks she can just waltz in and dole out advice on my appearance? Who does she think she is?
On top of all of this is the constant talk in the office of everyone's weight (and I've complained about this before). Almost every single person in the office constantly bemoans how fat they are when very few of them actually are. Eating disorders seem to be de rigueur and that's quite annoying as well. They go on unrealistic diets, constantly scruntinize each other's food in addition to their own (that's always a party), talk about how they need to exercise, and ask our doctorboss (who runs a weight-loss service) for help. Fat is a dirty word.
I'm very open about being fat. How could I not be? You know as soon as you look at me. But, you should see their faces when I refer to myself as fat and not in a negative sense, but only in a descriptive way. It even happened on Friday which just passed.
I made a comment along the lines of not being able to find some article of clothing (it escapes me as to what, at the moment) at the fat girl store (my pet name for Lane Bryant). And our purchaser almost had a heart attack over it.
her: Don't call yourself that?
me: Why? Was it a secret?
She was horrified.
I don't get it.
