What is the Powder Room?

Please Stop Telling Me I Don't Have To 'Dress Up' For Work

Hey, co-worker dude!

Thanks for sticking your head in my door every time you walk by to make a comment about my outfit. It’s really awesome that on top of all the other shit work I have to do every day here, I also have to stop and answer your questions about what I am wearing.

So for once and all, here is everything you need to know.

Nope, there is nothing I got "all dressed up for.” We don’t have any big meetings. No one from corporate is coming. Chill, man.


Hey, and I appreciate the whole welcome wagon thing, but you can stop telling me that “it’s OK for me to dress comfortable." And that I “don’t have to dress up for anyone around here.” It’s great that “no one in the office is worried"about how I dress. (although you seem to kind of be) I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I’m not mad at you!

But here’s the mind-blowing thing, dude: I am not dressing up for you or anyone else in this office.

Guess what? I am dressing this way for myself. I dress this way because I love how I look and, more importantly, how I feel. Period.

Take a moment and let that shit sink in. I know. It’s hard. It probably goes against all the crap you’ve been force fed to believe about women your whole life. It’s cool. I’ll wait.


And what’s that? It's OK for me to be "comfortable?" Hey, that's awesome. But guess what? I am comfortable in my heels and dresses and skirts and blouses and all the other things you tell me I don’t “have to wear.” You may be comfortable when you head home and thrown on a pair of jeans and t-shirt. Maybe I’m comfortable going home and putting on a ball gown. If I felt comfortable dressing up as Batman and coming in to work, I’d probably fucking do that too.


(Casual Friday)

And stop telling me I don’t have to “wear heels.” Stop telling me I "don’t have to wear those shoes around here because no one will notice anyway.” I’m not really interested in who notices my shoes or not. My shoes may look “painful” and “unnecessary” to you, but believe me, my feet are fine. I didn’t force myself into these shoes, crying in fits of agony and pain, just for the hopes that maybe you or someone else will be swept away in a cloud of shoegasm joy. Look, don’t worry about my feet, dude. Unless you are a podiatrist, why are we even having this conversation?


I know that you probably think women do each and everything on their bodies just to lure you men into our web so we can trap them into giving us babies and Neiman Marcus credit cards, but surprise! I actually don’t think about how you’re going to react or what you think when I am in my ridiculously huge walk-in closet to pick something to wear.

I wear what I wear because I wear what I like. Period. The end.

Are we cool now, dude? Hey, that’s great. Sure, you can totally go buy me a Coke from the vending machine. You rock!

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