As I was walking - no, striding -- into work this morning, I realized I was
wearing a Power Outfit. I had something of the feeling Clark Kent must get when he
puts on the cape and the big S, except of course that I still couldn't fly or see
through anything. The funny thing is, I'm not wearing
href="http://members.diaryland.com/edit/displayedit.phtml">black and silver or
anything in the least edgy or dangerous-looking. I am, in fact, clothed in
Professional Edging on Girly. (Do other people have this category?) I have on a
sheath dress in a plum tweed with flecks of red, violet and pink that ends three
inches above my knee when I'm standing; the sweater that goes with the shell I was
wearing here (where I had
taken it off in the vain hope of having my arms look buff); silver earrings,
necklace, watch and rings plus my engagement ring; and high heeled open-toed
mules. It's actually a fairly comfortable outfit except for the heels, which put
all my weight on the balls of my feet with no padding.
I think the
heels are the secret of the power, though. I can't mince or plod in heels; I have
to stride. Or it may lie in the expanse of bare legs that (I fondly and foolishly
believe) shout, "I am in shape and I CAN KICK YOUR BUTT!". (Not because I'm in
such great shape, but the dress hides the parts that aren't and shows the parts
that are.) People have been glancing at me all day. Of course I have no way to
tell if they're thinking "She looks powerful!" or "Hey baby," or "Where does she
think she is, Sex and the City? Not professional outside a TV show," but that's
OK. I'll just stride on believing what I want to believe, other people can
silently snark at me, and we'll all be happy.