Today is an exciting day, a day of firsts for my blog.
It’s not only my first ever official guest post; it’s written by a man! OOooOOooh exciting!
So make sure you’re sitting comfortably, and I’ll let him begin.
Guest limit #1: Boys can’t wear dresses.
A couple of weeks ago an acquaintance of mine was describing a dress they had their eye on. “It’s dead good, ‘cause, like, you can wear it to go out in, or to go to work in. Well, obviously you can’t. You’re a boy.”
My immediate thought was “oh can’t I?” (I’m not entirely sure why: maybe I’m just contrary like that) but as the day went on I got more and more annoyed at the exchange.
Imagine if the script was reversed. If the person had said “You can’t do x, y, z; you’re a girl” they’d be in so much trouble. But I’m a guy, so that’s just fine apparently.
Fast forward to a couple of days ago: It’s Christmas eve and head office has sent down a memo saying everyone in our local office is allowed to wear our finest festive dresses for the day. I’m pretty sure they were trying to be clever, but ended up making a typo. Still, head office must be obeyed, so I swore I’d follow orders and show up in my finest dress.
The dress was “Noelle” by Hell Bunny with a white t-shirt underneath to deal with the scandalously low neckline. It wasn’t a drag act; I didn’t shave my arms and legs, I didn’t wear make-up or a wig, nothing of the sort. I was simply myself, but in a dress.
I was worried. The people I work with are not the most mature people at the best of times and given that I’m ‘the weird one’ anyway I had a feeling it would end badly. Still, I looked at myself in the mirror and said “Damn, you look good” before walking into the lounge like nothing was different.
The reaction around the office was…varied, we’ll say. Some of the younger women said I looked very pretty, just not as pretty as they would look in the same dress.
Some of the guys thought it was hilarious. One colleague made a point of saying, quite loudly, “Look at him, he even walks gay.” Because wearing a particular kind of clothing means you’re gay, you know. My girlfriend will be heartbroken.
But I digress. The response was mostly positive.
And now it’s boxing day! The office is surprisingly normal. I’m not ‘that weirdo in a dress’ or ‘that pansy’ or any number of awful insults I imagined I would be. It’s almost like people don’t care what I wear at my desk (provided I rank at least two less than them on the scale of perceived hotness).
The trouble is, while my acquaintance couldn’t have known this, they were absolutely right. The official dress code says that female employees can wear anything they want, so long as it’s company colours, while the male employees have to wear a shirt and trousers. And no that isn’t sexist, for reasons entirely too obvious to explain. To anyone. Ever.
Still! I did something new (and hijacked this blog for 519 words), and all because someone said I couldn’t do something when I think you’ll find I can.