Browsing Date

March 2015

Clothing

manifestos March 23, 2015

Over the weekend, I took part of an interesting conversation about what defines “professional” clothing. Many in the room held firm to the belief that professional dress did not include the wearing of jeans. Others were seemingly ambivalent. Not shocking to any that know me, I had strong opinions in opposition. I believe that your behaviour defines your professional demeanor, not the wearing of Spanx and dress clothes.

This belief probably has something to do with the fact that the majority of my career has been a part of start-up technology companies. When I was 25 years old, I assisted the team┬ánegotiating an asset only acquisition wearing shorts and a Hooters t-shirt. Yes, a Hooters t-shirt. I was living in Austin, and owned a “Austin Hooters t-shirt.” Classy, probably not. Hilarious, absolutely. Did it change my skill set in navigating the muddy waters of employee transition? Without a doubt, no.

My voice defines the work that I do. My skills don’t change if I am wearing a pencil skirt or a pair of jeans. In my world, a venture cap firm honestly doesn’t pay attention to the clothing that I wear when I present instead, they are more focused on profitability and volume of media spend that we generate on a monthly basis. Frankly, half the time, in the rooms that I speak, people rarely look up from their machines to glance at the speaker. I’ve joked in the past that I could most likely show up to a meeting in my pj’s and the only way that someone would notice is if their battery died on the tech that they are plugged into.

As I was getting ready to go into the office this morning, I pondered this conversation. Today, I am dressed in jeans, shirt and light sweater. I brushed my hair (yay for me) and slapped on some basic make-up. The make-up is for me, not the colleagues that I will be meeting in 90 minutes. Our meeting today is about a plethora of really important things, none of which will be impacted by the clothing that I selected at 4:30 am.

Next week I travel to visit some clients. The wardrobe will mostly be the same, as I pitch business. Maybe a touch more accessories, but the jeans will come with me. They are my wardrobe. My battle gear. If I were to suit it up, believe it or not, I would lose credibility in the room. I am to look like my peers. We blend in, and let the technology show for itself. If I were to show up at work wearing what many deem as “professional clothes” immediately people would wonder if I was interviewing.

I used to work for a man that had tattoos covering his arms. He would walk into a big client with his sleeves rolled up. He wouldn’t hide them. They were part of who he was, and as a reflection, it communicated the creativity of the product & platform that we were. I always admired his wardrobe choices. His clothes didn’t cater to a perception of the role, instead he let the work do the talking.

It’s the year 2015. It’s time to focus less on the clothing, and more on the work, the words, the deeds.

When I interview people, I look for three things:

1.) Does their resume have any spelling errors?

2.) Do they look me in the eye when discussing their accomplishments?

3.) Do they seem hungry for work?

 

NOW… all of that being said, I do prefer that a candidate have the appearance of taking a shower and not smelling like a party from the night before, but that’s pretty much where my requirements end. Working with mostly developers and creatives over the years have changed my ideas of what people should look like.

I’ve sat in the room with disgustingly wealthy investors who eschewed suit and tie about 15 years ago. I’ve sat next to powerful female CEO’s and VP’s who wear jeans and black button down shirts. Somewhere along the way, at least in my industry, we said “screw societal norms” and focused on the body of work.

 

So, I ask you this:

What is your definition of professional clothing? Let me know in the comments.

 

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A Bit Dramatic

manifestos March 13, 2015

Last night, my poor friend Danielle called me. I say “poor” because she got to witness (hear) the train-wreck of me melting down as my allergies were taking over my body. In fact, I said to her “if I die, please give Weezie a good home, and just know that my last meal might have contained a reeses peanut butter egg.”

Yes, that’s how dreadful my head/lungs/ears were yesterday. Or maybe I was off the charts dramatic. We shall never know because happily, I didn’t die. Yet.

tantrum

Truthfully, they aren’t much better today, but I feel more prepared for the histamine onslaught that awaits me today. I snorted Dymista. I took Zyrtec. I used two of my precious drivers license Sudafeds. I popped an advil. I’m ready. Bring it.

Speaking of Bringing It, I feel like I finally conquered the time change. I woke up at my normal 5:30 this morning and didn’t drag booty. This probably has something to do with the fact that I drugged myself and was asleep by 8pm CST last night, but we won’t split hairs.

One of the last things I remember doing last night before the Nyquil kicked in was google “places where there are no trees.”

Yes, I did.

I also googled “where can I find a man that isn’t an idiot?” AND “where to buy Tyler candles.”

It’s fair to say that I was diverse in my searching last night. It’s also exciting to see that I didn’t do any late night online shopping. I think I might have broken the cycle of shame there. I did fall asleep watching the Home Shopping Network. Hopefully, I didn’t buy anything, or god forbid call in.

Nah, I wouldn’t have done that.

 

I think.

 

­čÖé

 

 

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Pensive

manifestos March 6, 2015

Forgive the ramblings this morning. I took some pain medication last night and my head is beyond fuzzy and I am ever so wobbly this morning. Instead of being productive, I’m sitting on the couch thinking about life. Life, friends, family, imaginary husbands and imaginary babies. In other words, all of the stuff. I am thinking about all of the stuff.

I was just flipping through the Facebook and landed on a childhood friends page. He has two daughters, gorgeous creatures that are growing up. Obviously children grow up, but he has two girls teetering on the brink of adulthood and it’s hard for me to reconcile the knuckle head friend of times past being a daddy to two teen girls.

I then realized that this could have also been me. I could have been the mom of teenagers had I not made changes. Decisions. Packing my up my shit and moving to Texas decisions. Leaving. Changing. Growing.

It’s interesting how a few simple decisions you make when you are young and dumb impact the rest of forever. I think of a few pivotal moments in my life and wonder had I answered questions differently, would I be sitting on my couch with a fuzzy head today?

Here is where I am conflicted. I like the couch that my fuzzy head is sitting on. I love my black labbish dog sitting next to me grumpy for no particular reason. I love my sweet friends and the people in my life today. If I would have said no all of those years ago, I wouldn’t have Weeze, nor would I have gotten Guster. Or perhaps even made it to Texas. ┬áThe mind reels with the possibilities.

I think this upcoming birthday is jacking me up. Really. I’m getting closer to 40 every hour of every day. 40 isn’t the issue, but reconciling the transition is hard. I’m not old, yet not young. Certain aspects of my life are changing and I need to be ok with the life that i have today. I could sit here and do the coulda/shoulda/woulda dance all day long, but it doesn’t change anything.

We make a jillion decisions in our lives. You can never be certain that the path you are taking is the right one, but you have to choose which path to ramble. I’m on the path, but I keep eyeballing the other road and wonder “what if?”

I think instead of lamenting the past, I need to focus on celebrating the future. Closing the door. Break the boomerang. Stop looking back and just face forward. I need to start planning the future. I need to stop living for only today and instead focus on the life that leads ahead of me.

I told my mom this weekend that I never imagined myself aging past 40. My best friend Caren has heard me say this countless times. It’s not particularly morbid, I just never could see myself past 40. I have no idea what that version of me look likes. I always just thought I would go out in a dramatic blaze of glory and never need plan for anything past 2017.

As luck would have it, I am still here and I need to start working on my future. Defining what that is going to look like. Changes. Lots of changes are ahead.

 

 

 

 

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March Manifesto or Benvenuti a Casa

manifestos March 1, 2015

As I write this post, I am currently ensconced at the parentals casa in Michigan. It’s snowing, the sun has decided to take a runner, and the smell of food is emanating throughout the house.

I’m leaving in 13 hours and for the most part, it’s been a lovely, fast visit. I’ve gotten to hang with my parents, see a movie with ┬ámy brother, throw some money in a slot machine, and see one of my oldest sweet friends and her darling husband. We’ve eaten a ton, talked a ton, and watched a fair amount of television.

Things I’ve observed:

1.) Food is and always will be a primary conversation: what to eat, what’s to eat, what will be eaten next. Why I have a large ass is no surprise.

2.) Order and process is key. I eschew both. ‘Nuff said.

3.) Basketball is King. Correction, UofM basketball first, then the rest of the Big 10, minus the ohio state.

4.) Simple things are made large.

Good trip, good times, ready to get home to my black dog. Miss her, miss my house, miss my queen sized bed.

Onwards to the merry month of March. I’m hoping it’s going to be a little magical. I hope that it will be better than February and exponentially more awesome than January.

I wish for calm, for peace and for plenty of good times with my people. I wish for no more snow & ice. I wish for naps when needed and time to dig in my flowers.

Oh, by the way, if you have read this you are on notice: it is birth month. you have 30 days to deliver tributes in the form of trinkets, treasures and jewels.

PS- I can do anything for 13 more hours… I can keep my mouth shut, i can be sweet, I can be patient.

I can be a good daughter.

 

 

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