Clothing Loathing

George Bailey, Perturbed

On a certain weeknight last spring, at eight or nine PM, I was sitting at my desk. As I stared at my computer, a sudden rogue wave of unexpected emotion hit. Without warning, a deep loathing, a diabolical hatred, for every piece of clothing I was wearing swept over me. Even the socks were not spared from my extreme dislike (though, I admit, their low level of cleanliness and threadbare toes made them the part of the outfit most worthy of such an emotion). It seemed as if all my frantic frustrations, deferred dreams, and wild worries were somehow woven into the fabric that now covered me. Naturally, I was puzzled and rather alarmed by this clothing contempt; for a moment I could not discern the cause of the confusion. Was I experiencing some sort of devolution? Had I somehow stumbled and fallen back a few steps down the Darwinian hill of human development toward the sensibilities of a more primitive, clothe-less creature? Was this Eden?

Finally, averting my eyes from the screen and rising from my seat, I looked down and instantly understood: Except for my tie (long ago cast aside), I was still wearing everything--shoes and all--that I had donned at seven that morning.

Clothing matters. As I described before, dressing sharply shows respect for others, aids confidence, and reminds us of our duty to do our very best. I wear a tie to work every day, and do my best to keep my attire neat and clean. Often, after donning a particularly effortful ensemble, I am tempted to keep the outfit on into the later hours of the day, the rationale being: I spent all this time ironing and tying, so why not look good and act professional even after arriving home? Maybe my girlfriend is coming over for dinner. Perhaps I have to go out for a meeting or errand in the evening. Looking good is important after hours too, right?

I submit to you: While looking presentable is important anytime one goes out in public, dressing sharply becomes detrimental if it harms the healthy separation of our professional and private lives. Clothing serves as bodily reminder of our professional responsibilities; if we don’t change our clothes upon arriving home we risk retaining the worries from work. There are always problems to ponder and difficulties to discern, but such thoughts are futile. Rather, each day, we must leave the world of work, go home, and attend to health and leisure. The personal life, I learned over the past year, is terribly vital to the sane man.

Nowadays, upon returning home in the afternoon, my first priority is a trip to the closet. A nice pair of jeans and a polo shirt suffice if I need to head out into public, and if I have something more formal that evening I change into a different shirt and tie. They are small actions, to be sure. But any little thing to preserve my sanity is worth it.

George Keeping His Worries at the Office