Wake up. Snooze, sleep. Repeat 3 times (may vary). Get out of bed. Wash (optional). Breakfast (optional). Coffee (necessary).
Take ironed shirt from night before, tuck into pants. Place belt around said pants. Get tie fitting right, add shoes, hair and makeup (optional).
Wallet, keys, iPhone/Blackberry/mp3 player and out the door.
You may remember such mindless routines from mornings such as Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and, um, Friday.
On a bad morning, even if you love your work, wearing the suit can feel like the final piece of the puzzle – a cunning societal ploy which is akin to the voluntary prisoner that admits his guilt, puts himself in a chain gang, and fits her/his own straitjacket on the way to the electric chair.
In the rat race, the suit marks us as 100% rat. At the same time, when one exits their respective place of employment, a suit provides the self confidence and strut that comes with that special combination of being well dressed and not at work (see Postgrads at uni or suits at the pub).
It was the latter side of this suit contradiction that was highlighted in my experience a few weeks back. I’ll elaborate.
Last week I left my job, in preparation for other pastures which I’m not yet sure are greener. Freedom tasted sweet, but there was nonetheless a lingering aftertaste, as though the sweetness came at a price – like when you’ve finished a Red Bull and are reminded of the Jägerbombs consumed the previous night.
For the first time in a while I was out and about in the great sprawl of the city in jeans/shirt/jacket gear. Even walking was more leisurely when not confined to black, pointy, gator-style formal shoes (the ‘foot-suit’).
I was loving the casual look ‘til the critical time disrupted my euphoria – 5:30pm Thursday afternoon. The water in my cup began to shake, the waves rippling outward indicating a large force approaching the streets outside. It was an environment I was all too familiar with, but now I was on the outside looking in. The ground shook, the vaguely audible bell of clocks ticking 5:30pm in all surrounding office blocks sent a wave of white collar excitement reverberating through the city centre.
Then the chatter could be heard, initially distant, but creeping in and engulfing the area – here are the snippets.
“I had a report due, but I spent most of the day stapling stuff…my recommendations never get through to management anyway”
“The new guy is a bit quiet…probably hasn’t figured out our boss is a tosser” – chuckles.
“I just think she’s so unprofessional…” Evidently, this commentator was wearing a skirt I initially confused for a g-string. She must be in finance.
As the suits came thundering down in hoards to cramp venues serving social lubricant, the “sweetness” I initially felt turned into a strange feeling of not being involved and also being strangely underdressed.
The allure of the suit is that you can stand out and fit in all at the same time, and it was coming back to haunt me. I went to meet some friends who were finishing work, and they almost didn’t recognise me.
Bartenders ignored my presence serving the suits preferentially, baristas gave me the ‘why would you need coffee – doesn’t even look like you work’ look. And the ladies…well let’s not go there.
So I resigned myself to spending time with university colleagues who were still “academically involved” and would be so for the next few years. They had never been to the suit side, and thus couldn’t understand my vexing dilemma.
So what do you call a former race-runner who wants his suit back? That’s 110% Rat.
Facebook Recommendations
Read all about it
Punch live
Up to the minute Twitter chatter
Recent posts
The latest and greatest
The Punch is moving house
Good morning Punchers. After four years of excellent fun and great conversation, this is the final post…
Will Pope Francis have the vision to tackle this?
I have had some close calls, one that involved what looked to me like an AK47 pointed my way, followed…
Advocating risk management is not “victim blaming”
In a world in which there are still people who subscribe to the vile notion that certain victims of sexual…
Nosebleed Section
choice ringside rantings
From: Hasbro, go straight to gaol, do not pass go
Tim says:
They should update other things in the game too. Instead of a get out of jail free card, they should have a Dodgy Lawyer card that not only gets you out of jail straight away but also gives you a fat payout in compensation for daring to arrest you in the first place. Instead of getting a hotel when you… [read more]From: A guide to summer festivals especially if you wouldn’t go
Kel says:
If you want a festival for older people or for families alike, get amongst the respectable punters at Bluesfest. A truly amazing festival experience to be had of ALL AGES. And all the young "festivalgoers" usually write themselves off on the first night, only to never hear from them again the rest of… [read more]Gentle jabs to the ribs
Superman needs saving
Can somebody please save Superman? He seems to be going through a bit of a crisis. Eighteen months ago,… Read more
Most commented