Belated Conference Attire Post!

Dearest readers,

My humblest apologies for the delay on this post! Being pregnant and teaching a full load has made the fall difficult, to use polite language. Thankfully, my grades are in and I'm settling in for a long winter's nap. Baby's due in mid-January, so I'm hoping to live on the sofa through the holidays.

But I was rather busy professionally several months ago! I had to attend a smallish conference in North Carolina and present a paper properly attired. Since my suits stopped fitting around the end of my first trimester, I had to invest in quasi-professional maternity wear for this outing. (I will explain the "quasi" below.) I was about 6 months pregnant for this trip.

Now, a few words of introduction for those of you who have never delved into maternity clothing. First, there are two price tiers. The upper echelons (this is Pea in the Pod territory) are literally hundreds of dollars for an article of clothing. Basic outfits are not inexpensive. They are well-made, but I have found myself infuriated at the prices for the simple reason that these are temporary outfits. I will not always look like a orange balanced on toothpicks. I swore that I would do this shopping on the cheap.

Enter the world of consignment/hand-me-downs and the flawless retail opportunities offered by Old Navy Maternity and Target Maternity. Girlfriends who had been through this process mailed me their sweaters and jeans, which have been godsends the past few weeks. Everything else I got from Old Navy and Target. I have lived in the two pairs of maternity corduroy trousers from Old Navy (teaching outfits), and the tops from both stores have been worn and worn and worn.

Target is where I found my conference outfits. Once I resigned myself to the prevalence of black in maternity wear, I embraced it. You can make many outfits out of a very few pieces and a handful of accessories. The first day, I wore a pair of herringbone trousers and a black wrap top. The slacks were Target, and while not made of anything born on this earth, they could pass for wool in a pinch. The top was also Target, and the wrap shirt is a great way to show off your newly ridiculous rack while keeping the tum at bay.

Day two, when I was presenting, offered a different challenge. I could wear my clogs with slacks. (Buy clogs, pregnant ladies! You can look put together, even chic, and they're good for your feet. I'm a Sanita girl, although my preg friend A. swears by Dansko. My oxblood clogs have not left my feet for weeks.) I wanted to take it up a notch for the talk. So, I invested in some boots with low heels. (The concept of a "low heel" made no sense to me for a long time, but I found that I was more comfortable in a 2" heel than I was in a flat boot or shoe. Go figure.)

Boots in hand, I could wear a skirt! I found a very sweet jersey dress (Target maternity!) in black, of course, and paired that with the INDISPENSABLE sweater wrap concoction from Victoria's Secret. It's called the Cotton Cashmere Wrap. I bought mine in chocolate cherry heather, which is a lovely rich purple. Great with black. It is so damn chic. I hope to wear it a third as much once this baby's out.

Hotel bathroom shot. I'm wearing the long sleeve jersey dress under the wrap with the boots. As I said, it's a little leggy, but it was almost refreshing to show flesh again. :)

Only problem? This dress is not long enough to really be professional. I was showing some leg at this conference. No tights for me, because of lady issues while pregnant but also because I couldn't find a pair to stay on me. The tum pushes them down. So, as you'll see in the picture, I was pushing a few boundaries. This would have been totally fine for most presentations, but for the fogeys at my conference, I was a little sassy. But then, it can be a bit of a relief to know that you have the capacity for sass while pregnant.

My other attempt to dress up, around 7 mos. This is MOD from Macy's, as I recall. I wore it all the time pre-preg. Those empire waists are lifesavers!
The boots are a staple at this point, as you can tell.

Hope that helps, friends! Take good care of yourselves this holiday season. I will likely evaporate until I return to post on how to dress your fashionable academic spawn at the spring conferences. :)

xoxo,
Megarita

Hello Elastic My Old Friend . . .

Dear ones,

Megarita is pregnant. As in "with child." As in "expecting." As in "in the family way." As in "knocked up, well and truly." My husband and I are having a little girl in the new year, but in the meantime I've got to dress my strangely rotund self.

To write about the weirdness of having one's body hijacked by an entity I affectionately call "the wee parasite" is a whole other post entirely, so today I'll just stick to "Dressing The Bump." Because my southeastern home has been obscenely hot all of September, my back to school wear has by and large been me crammed into wrap dresses and sundresses and praying for fabric strength. As soon as it cools off, I will be resplendent in elastic waisted cords from Old Navy. (Once and Future Pregs: Old Navy Maternity is Fabulous and Inexpensive.)

I will say that my fashion requirements are far looser now. Comfort uber alles. When you're carrying around pounds extra and your balance is off and you actually cannot fit your pudgy feet into attractive shoes, the bar is just lowered. And that's ok.

Exhibit A: work wear
Forgive the bathroom pics. I cannot seem to make the camera work on its own and my husband is being very cagey about being my photographer. So here I am in one of my workhorse wrap dresses. This dress (from Max Azaria's low end label) has NO business being stretched around me, and yet it's too hot to do anything else. So I lash myself to the mast (or at least say a prayer to my knot tying abilities and the tensile strength of man-made fabrics) and toodle off to work. I wore mules earlier in August, but now we're firmly in ballet flats. (Side note -- I recommend a clog or a better sole/heel. Ballet flats are not great for backs, I'm finding.) Also necessary -- the camisole under the dress. I never wore camis before as a layering device, because my breasts were never that obtrusive. That, my friends, has changed. The name of the game is containment and preventing undesirable sexual harassment lawsuits. Camis away.

Exhibit B: non-work wear
This is an Old Navy advertisement that they might not wish to have. I'm wearing a maternity top (size small) and Old Navy skinny maternity jeans (size 8 long). These jeans are awesome, largely because I can wear something that isn't a pup tent that still has enough strength to not be chafey or binding. I have never ever bought or worn skinny jeans to this point in my 3o+ years, but here we are. I might have worn this outfit in middle school, to be honest.

A note about sizing. I was a size 6 before this experience, so you go with your normal(ish) size for maternity clothes, by and large. My rump has grown, so I'm back up to an 8. Maternity stuff ranges HUGELY. This is a small and it's tent-y. I have other tops that are the same size and seem clingy.

As I continue to expand and the weather (please baby jesus) continues to cool, I'll share more worky pregnant clothes. I've got a conference early next month, actually, that I'm completely unsure about. I might just swaddle myself in knits, throw on some big earrings and a scarf, and say to hell with it all.

Yours in robust Rubenesqueness,
Megarita (& Sprout)

Unqualified for this gig, really.

Looking over my pictures from last weekend's camping trip, I realize that I might not be the most qualified academic for a fashion blog. I mean, look at this picture. This is my rain gear. Sure, it's a belted trench (Calvin Klein, got it at TJ Maxx for $100!) and a Nats cap, but it's really not appropriate to the place or the rainstorm! I am wearing this outfit in the WOODS.

I have a similar problem these days picking out clothes for work. Appropriate for weather you've heard about. It's really appropriate for my commute. Here in the Deep South we're not big on public transportation (don't get me started). Sadly, I found my soul dying the year I lived in College Town, so I moved to the nearest big city and started commuting 50 miles each way. Thankfully I have to be on campus only two or three times a week, and several other profs joined me living "in town," so I can carpool a lot, but I'm still stuck in a car for about an hour en route to work.

The problem? Wrinkles! What I'm really wondering is whether everyone else on the planet is wearing wrinkle-proof fabrics that I simply have not discovered, or whether everyone else has secret steamers in their offices. Inquiring minds want to know!

Mr. President, we're at CAFTAN 2!

Teaching in the Deep South is an exercise in sartorial creativity. When one is teaching a summer session class (because one would like to be paid in the summer -- who in god's name thought a 10-month pay schedule was a good idea?), one must venture deep into the recesses of the closet to find appropriate garb.

It's hot, chickens. Damn hot. Shootin' weather hot. High humidity makes certain shoes unwearable and turns many accessories into rash-producing torture devices. The heat itself, mixed with the penguin-level cooling systems available at most universities, requires a kind of creative layering unknown outside of several Bedouin tribes in North Africa.

What's a person to do? I feel as though I've run the gamut, and I offer suggestions as well as my own crises of fashion in hopes that someone somewhere has figured out how to dress for this weather and still look like the teacher. I'll use my CAFTAN scale, based on the DEFCON scale for the US Gov't.

CAFTAN 5: comfortable, warm, breezy
I've been known to wear a summer suit here! A lovely skirt and twin set, even! Heck, I might even be found in a closed-toe shoe in a snappy color.

CAFTAN 3: here is where we begin to have problems. It's in the 90s, but the humidity hasn't completely made hair optional. However, you cannot venture outside wearing actual clothing. I far too often find myself in a peasant skirt and sandals with some kind of Gap t-shirt these days as I ooze across the quad from my office to a classroom. I use jewelry and light make up to polish myself, but I'm already teetering towards play-clothes.

CAFTAN 1: 100% humidity and highs in the 90-110 range. There is no hair style to be had. There is no shoe that will feel ok. There is no fabric that can stand this. The result? Often a very casual sundress that has no business in the classroom, layered with something over it, but that "something" almost always gets ditched en route because it's HOT. I've resorted to flip-flops here. My feet simply will not fit into shoes some of these days. All I can do for my students is apologize and hope my deodorant can stand the pressure.

How to deal? How to cool? How to look polished? I've been at conferences when I've been caught in a rogue snowstorm and had to pop into a hair salon to be put back together in time for a talk or presentation, but I have yet to find a solution for full summer that doesn't involve a fan, a ponytail, and a cold vodka-tonic. Dear reader, share your wisdom,

Pantingly yours,
Megarita

The Value of Escaping

Dear Fashionable Academics,

I recently returned from a fabulous honeymoon in the Bahamas. I write in order to urge all of you to take a honeymoon, whether you're married or single or just in need of a break. We didn't spend a bundle, we had a completely wonderful experience, and I have returned a completely sane Megarita, which is saying a LOT.

First, we designed our wedding around our honeymoon. I love snorkeling and beach, and my new husband loves the beach and was willing to try snorkeling, so I devoted my research brain (which had not been functioning since the engagement -- be warned) to finding an affordable place in a beautiful location. After about two weeks, I found a small dive resort on one of the outlying islands in the Bahamas. It's nestled among a scattering of residences, has its own beach, a dive shop, and the vibe of a larger B&B. In addition, it was very much in our price range. With flights, food, and hotel, we could spend around $2000 on close to a week of island time.*

We found a stretch of time at the Greenwood Resort (link here, if you're interested), and then went back a week or two to book the wedding. I married another teacher, so we had the wedding during my spring break, and the honeymoon during his. (High School vacation is a bit stricter than university.) This system worked out beautifully, because we got to have a small, fun wedding and then blow most of our money (although really not that much) on travel.

Do travel. Do get away and spend six days in a place that requires nothing from you except eating, sleeping, swimming, pointing at fish, and the occasional walk. Do not bring anything except silly books to read. Bring a camera to record the silly things you see. Prepare to be silent and thoughtless for long stretches. Drink a little or a lot, stuff yourself with delicious and exotic foods, and connect with your friend, your lover, your spouse.

This trip saved me as a person. The wedding, small and painless as it was, nearly wrecked me as a human being. Traveling to the Bahamas, just with my fella, reminded me that I could be fun, and playful, and STILL. So very still. I'm in the midst of finals now, and I'm not completely evil,unlike every year in recent memory. I can only thank the honeymoon for that. We work thankless jobs for little money a lot of the time. After a year of furloughs, insurance rate hikes, and a spitefully tiny job market, I needed to play in the islands. I encourage you to treat yourself well in a similar manner.

Peacefully,
Megarita
*an important sidebar, for us at least. My husband and I swore that we would not go into debt for the wedding or the honeymoon. We got some money from friends and family, but not anything exorbitant. We lowballed everything. We could have been somewhere posh for the honeymoon, or I could have worn a big white dress or had a cake or something, but we got back from the Bahamas WITH NO BILLS TO PAY. This is key, I think. No burden.

A Married Megarita

I got married this past weekend at a zoo with about 75 family and friends, and although I did this very "quick and dirty," I knew from the moment I got engaged in December that I wanted a fabulous dress. I have never been a traditional wedding sort of girl, and I don't look good in white, so I knew I might have some difficulties finding a dress that suited.

I wanted a cocktail dress, because I like my legs.

I wanted something that was a beautiful color, that made me look and feel wonderful, and was not red or purple or something that would give my family coronaries.

I wanted to look good, but not super sexy. I wanted to show skin, but not have some aunt say "whore!"

I wanted something sleeveless, but not strapless, because I like my arms but not my bony sternum, and I knew I'd be sweating like a field hand.

With two of my favorite girlfriends in tow, I scoured the Atlanta retail markets for dresses. Retail people, when they heard that I was getting married at a zoo and that I wanted a non-white cocktail dress, were ecstatic and got very creative. I tried on gold lame skin tight meowzy dresses (BCBG), coral sheathes with matching platform stripper shoes (Karen Millen), black dresses with flowers that seemed most fit for cruise wear (Betsy Johnson), and a LOT of animal prints!

I had no ambitions for the dress I tried on (at Macy's, for those who wonder). It was off white, sort of a pearly color that was pink as much as it was gold. It had a bow in the back, which made me think "Alice in Wonderland" and not in a good way. But when I walked out with it on, feet in the high heels I'd thrown in my purse, my two girlfriends took deep breaths and said, "now you look like a bride.

I hadn't know until then that I wanted to look like a bride. Indeed, I was still very unsure as I bought the dress ($180) and the insanely beautiful gold heels ($60) and the shawl ($24). And yet when I put it all on the day of my wedding, I was blown away. I felt like a golden goddess. I was pretty and feminine in a way that seemed effortless. (My hair was another story, and my expenditures at the MAC counter are probably legendary at corporate headquarters, but this is about dresses.)

The dress mattered. Friends and family stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me, told me I glowed, and everyone fell over themselves to praise my silly pearly cocktail dress. They were pleased, and I was delighted, because the dress was more me than any boufy, sequined, bustled, bodiced madness. Say yes to the dress, professors, but say yes to your dress. You will never regret staying true to your own fashion and style.

From the harpy's perspective

Several of my friends -- male and female -- were taken aback by the Super Bowl commercials this past weekend. In what felt to me like a significant shift in the culture*, advertisements informed women (and reminded men) that women exist to cut off men's balls. Men are wearing skirts they've become so emasculated. They're seething masses of blank-eyed rage, holding on to sanity and civilization only because they have the chance to unleash their beast-within via the socially-accepted horsepower of a Dodge Charger. They're tackling their mothers to thank them for not aborting them.**

There was a stunned silence after the Dodge Charger ad at our party. I imagine it was me or someone like me who finally trilled, "did that seem really weird and angry at women?" The whole room nodded. It is this rage that upsets me, not the stupid advertisement itself, the porny nonsense of GoDaddy.com, or the plethora of ugly dudes in underpants. There was a socially sanctioned orgy of misogyny on TV Sunday night, and I think it's a far more dangerous trend for women and men than even one poorly produced and written spot for Focus on the Family.

These ads associate civilization with women and discontent. We are vampire-show watching sexless nags who live to spend and cannot brook dispute or competition. We demand incessantly and are never satisfied. Life is misery for men, it seems, and women are the problem. Marriage is a burden, sex a necessity, and love secondary. We make them take out the trash when what they'd rather do it wallow in it (see GoDaddy.com?).

Just as disturbing are the images men face when watching these ads. In the creepy baby e-trade commercial, men are shown to be cheaters while still in diapers, with carping unattractive fishwives battling over them. "Who you calling a milkaholic?" Men are bored, they are told, they are miserable, and have no joy in their lives except for fast cars and somebody's else's breasts. At least they can be pantless in their office fantasies. It is a miserable fate for all those involved. I would say "at least it's just the heteros," but even the gays are allowed some self-loathing when Megan Fox sends pics of her dewy self over the internet. Nobody wins.

I get nervous when men are given a sanctioned, televised reason to despise and resent women. This is how domestic abuse gets hidden, and this is how date rapes become normalized. Hysteria? Maybe. I'm sure my womb is off-a-wandering again. In short, I think these ads were poorly designed, tone-deaf, and not funny, which is what we all expect from our Super Bowl. I'd like to think Madison Avenue dropped the ball on this one, but I think we should make ourselves aware of what the zeitgeist is up to around us.

*I've had other friends insist that this is standard operating procedure for football games. Not on my watch, I say, but I will admit that I'm not all-knowing. Big of me, I know.

**This is a separate post. I'm still angry at both sides on how the Tebow ad was handled. NOW came off looking like a bunch of out-of-touch harridans (yet another post) and the ad ended up being hugely ineffective and actually, a bit odd.

Festive Business Casual Chic with a Twist

What to wear . . . what to wear . . .

It is that time, lovies. Time to don your holiday frock and venture out into the night!

As inspiration, I'm sharing Three Holiday Party Successes and One Epic Fail.

(In no particular order)

1. WORKY: A very low key grey V-neck sweater with black beading (Old Navy) with a good looking black miniskirt (Armani), stockings and black heels. Then I tied a red velvet bow around my neck and trotted off to our work party. Successful? Absolutely! No flashing Santas or embroidered reindeer sweaters, but I looked festive and the bow adds a strange little sexy kick. Only downside? Colleague got smashed on egg nog and made an inappropriate remark about unwrapping me. Awkward.

To be honest, this scheme is a go-to for me during the holidays. Little black dress (Loehman's) and a red bolero jacket (Gap) or something red and shiny as jewelry. [Always grab a little black dress with short sleeves or no sleeves. Layering is so much easier.] Sparkles and black. I'll be wearing this when I'm 80, just in a longer length.

2. My chubby alternative outfit: I found a fabulous green silk blouse (Banana Republic sale) and I wear it with a pair of terrific tailored black trousers and heels. Gold jewelry? Check. Big hair? Check. Eating whatever I want or at least looking like I could? Double check. You look lean in good slacks, and a flowy blouse that isn't a pup tent is a lifesaver. Love a shiny blouse in a fab color.

3. Red Wrap Dress (pictured). I may need to be buried in this dress (Max Azria, got it at Filene's) if we're being honest. Long sleeves, great fit, can be dressed pretty far up for holiday festive. I tend to throw on pearls and sparkly earrings, as seen here, but gold works well, too. Black heels usually, but open toe.

My Epic Fail: I found the most beautiful strapless green gown, sort of charmeusy, and wore it a big Christmas Eve Party. I had a little furry shrug to keep me warm. The pictures tell the story--I'm far too overdressed, I have a vaguely jaundiced look to me, and the furry shrug really looks like I've taken the pelt of a muppet a la Lady Gaga. I tried too hard. I do still have the dress!


(Disclaimer: Now, this is Megarita Style, to be sure. I tend to underplay, but it works for me. There are those of you who can totally work the crazy formal wear. I envy you! Go forth!)

Happy Holidays, lovely ladies!

Old like a fine wine, you mean . . .

I often anticipate a visit from Stacy and Clinton from What Not To Wear. Ever since I turned 35 earlier this year, I've gotten self-conscious of my clothes. I dressed too old for much of my 20s--too many hand-me-downs from elder aunts, mommies, and grannies--and then went on a "check my hotness out" during my late 20s and early 30s. Now I'm settling into a bit of a groove, but I do worry about some of my skirts being too short, some of my shirts being too tight or too low cut, and so on.

Turns out I don't need to worry too much. I was driving around doing errands the other day, wearing a typical Megarita ensemble. Jeans, boots, t-shirt and fuzzy sweater/cardigan. I may or may not have been wearing something involving pearls. (I have a lot--see note above about too much inherited stuff--so I'm trying to bring back the sexy pearls!) Anyhoo, I was driving around with the windows down, blasting some hard rocking sort of stuff because it was a good day and it was a band I like to hear in the car. (Korn, in this instance.)

I pulled up to a stoplight, happily growling along with Korn and vaguely bopping along, and I felt the eyes of another upon me. Looking to my right, I saw a teenager/college kid looking at me with complete confusion and what might be best termed horror. I probably looked like his freaking mother, only his mother suddenly knows too many lyrics to Korn. I can see that being upsetting.

At first I laughed, thinking, "Heck I'm cool." Then I glanced at my outfit and imagined myself a decade or two ago seeing a prof jamming to something I loved. Loathing. I've become what I despised. I whirled back to think of all the references I'd made in classes to bands I loved, to new bands I was listening to. I forced myself to acknowledge the winces that some of these references got. I may have killed the cool factor of TV on the Radio for an entire class.

In short, I'm too old to be cool. Adulthood is firmly ensconced. I am not their peer. After the despair of this hit me, I had a rather more soothing revelation. First, I was never really cool. Second, though, and this is what makes this post at least tenuously appropriate for this blog, I no longer have to worry about looking cool. If, as Stacy and Clinton might aver, I'm a little on the wizened side for miniskirts, so be it. Grace Kelly didn't need them. Katherine Hepburn was sexy in trousers. I will be ok in a sweater and pearls if necessary. And I'll still listen to Korn.

Dressing for your other life. And your other ass.

I put on about 10 pounds in the last year for a variety of boring reasons, but somehow neglected to notice that I had done so until I couldn't fit into my fall slacks this September. Any of them. None. No trousers. Pantsless.

After a horrified and stunned moment of silence and self-loathing in front of my full length mirror, I went shopping. I'm not a big believer in punishing your body with clothes that do not fit. If I've gained weight, then I need to dress for that weight.

Interestingly enough, when I went out to shop for my new rear end, I found myself not in the pinstripes but in the party dresses. I intended to buy something pretty for a play I was seeing on opening night, but what I needed was several pairs of decently-cut slacks that I would wear this fall and even this winter. Instead I walked out with a real party dress--purple, silky material, empire cut--plus what I called a Mad Men sheath dress in black, and a brown dress straight out of the 1970s. Oh, and a pair of gold strappy heels.*

This is not work wear, needless to say.

What the hell happened? I was mildly distressed about my shopping expedition until I got home and tried the dresses on again for friends. As they noted, these were not things I could teach in. (The Mad Men dress was dubbed the Sexy Megarita Dress, and was not to be worn except in dating or non-work-party situations.) I had bought items that made me look pretty. Pretty in a non-work way. Pretty in a life-outside way. Pretty in the way that every woman looks pretty in a pair of gold strappy heels.**

I needed work clothes! I needed clean lines and dark colors! I needed a suit that didn't look like a sausage casing! No, my purchases purred. I needed to remember that I was still ok, that I had a life outside of the classroom, and that I needed to get out more.

The clothes were right. I needed to refocus on me. On my writing, on my life and plans, on my future, on my present priorities. How did I gain weight? Among several other reasons, I packed on pounds because I chose my students over the gym. There is always another request for help, or another stack of papers to grade, or another class to prep (especially at my uni, where I have had 1-2 new courses to prep every single semester.) I gave up me for them. And now I have more of me to blame. :) My students, while adorable, will be seeing me in my grad school uniform for a while this fall. They can get past the jeans-boots-blazers triumvirate for a spell while I get past sacrificing my time (and my figure) for the sake of teaching and sitting and reading and grading.

In short, dear reader, I was nearly overtaken by the Academic Frumps. Watch carefully for signs of your own fashion martyrdom! Then treat yourself to something pretty.

*How the hell did I afford this on an academic salary? Well, two were from the sale rack at Macy's and the sheath came from Ann Taylor, full price, because it's beautifully put together. (Always invest in quality when you can.) The shoes were $20 at DSW.
**This is like a scientific fact. Gold in general is good for nearly every skin tone, but gold shoes, especially strappy ones, are like magic. Plus you feel as though you're really dressing up because your SHOES ARE GOLD. Try it.

On the Perils of Fashion

When I first started my tenure-track job at a public university, I was determined to play the part of young academic on the go. I would dress professionally so that I would be taken seriously! I would wear my glasses so that no one would think me too young! I would shop for attractive clothing and wear it in the classroom!

Week after week I would trot out my hand-me-down pencil skirts and silk blouses, my wrap dresses and heels, my beautifully-cut Italian suit (half off at Saks Off Fifth!) that got me through MLA in style. No jeans, no t-shirts, no apologies. I shopped at discount places to find the pieces I needed; I tried to freshen up my blazer/jean/boot look to take myself from grad assistant to prof.

As the months whisked past, I realized something.

People really notice how you dress, particularly and surprisingly in academia. My students, particularly the female students, feel very comfortable exclaiming over my shoes or my dress or my latest hair color choices. A few of the young men have also said things like "You look nice today!" While early on I would thank them before wondering whether they ever complimented their male professors this way, I have since taken to just saying "thanks" and moving on. Colleagues are the same way, it turns out. It became a department joke that I was some sort of fashionista clothes horse. When we were offered lanyards for our uni IDs, the chair of our department mentioned, "Well, I think it's safe to say that Megarita will not be caught dead wearing these!" A few other younger professors raised eyebrows, but they were in the minority as the department laughed at "how true!"

Fashion, especially what might be scare-quotedly termed feminine fashion, it seemed, gave me a label. "Young." "Harmless." "Not serious." The bar for fashion is so low in most departments, most universities, that the sight of a pair of stockings sets off klaxons. I am not a supermodel. I am not a fashionista. I am simply a woman who will wear a dress to work every now and again because it looks nice and more put together than jeans.

This is a not a woe-is-me sixteenth-wave feminism diatribe. It's just a note that we few, we happy few "fashionable academics" are noticeable. I've found this to be to my advantage. I class up the joint! I raise the bar! And I still do it because my clothing is my ethos. My dresses and heels are my uniform to face the slavering hordes in battle for 75 minutes several times a day. One good suit can create more conversations than 10 compelling conference papers. The face I choose to present to my workplace is polished and a smidgen meow. Because I know when it comes down to it, my tenure folder only loves me for my mind.