I must confess I broke my own rule recently. One afternoon last week, I walked to the grocery store in my yoga pants. This is not a particularly earthshattering confession, I admit. But it caused quite a bit of angst for me. Although I am flexible about most rules, I aspire to adhere to the ones I set myself. (This is an inherently Italian trait.) Thou shalt not be seen in public in exercise kit unless exercising or making thy way to exercise, including but not limited to yoga, walking the dog, running, hiking, snowshoeing, etc., etc. Leaving the house to do chores in clothes intended to soak up sweat is strictly verboten.
A friend from school agrees. She says, she always dresses like she might meet her worst enemy on the street. For her this rule is intended to avoid the pain of jealousy and embarrassment if she finds herself face-to-face with that girl in college who made her feel small. Who know that person, the one who knows the whereabouts of that money tree you’ve been searching for your whole life. And she knows how to spend it on looking fit and fabulous.
For me, it’s about the possibility of meeting a client or prospective client at the grocery store, which happens quite a lot more often than you might imagine. As a freelancer with a work-at-home job, the temptation to sit around in baggy pants and a ratty t-shirt for three days can be overwhelming. But when I leave the house in the middle of a workday, it is imperative that I appear dressed for work. This doesn’t mean a suit and shiny shoes or even a skirt and heels. Jeans are acceptable—the good jeans though, not the faded weekend jeans. Because the potential for running into a client is very real, I would rather look like I’m just dashing out during a break from a serious design challenge than racing to the store for yet another chocolate bar between binge watching the latest PBS Masterpiece costume drama series.
So there I was, walking down the sidewalk, carrying a grocery bag, browsing the aisles, pulling foodstuffs off shelves, placing them in my basket, checking items off my list, standing in the checkout line, exchanging pleasantries with the woman behind the cash register, and so on until I retraced my steps and arrived home. I reentered the house in a sweat. I guess technically that means I had not broken my rule. Except I really had, and in so doing I had invited agita upon myself.
To some this rule would seem silly perhaps and not worth the stress it produced on this occasion. But imposing a set of guidelines intended to pilot yourself through life’s tiny pitfalls is a worthy cause. Putting your best foot forward, even on a walk to the grocery store, is one of those minor victories that ripple outward, affecting your whole day, your whole outlook. As the old adage goes, you gotta dress for success. And if that’s not enough to convince you, remember those tops and pants you sweat in do not smell good, no matter how well you wash them.
Visualizing Shakespeare 