When I was younger, if I may say myself, I turned my fair share of heads. I had good bone structure, big eyes, healthy hair, and a pretty damned decent figure. I even had a brief foray into photographic modelling.
Now that I'm on the far side of 50, I don't turn heads with natural assets any more.
I do, however, turn heads when I visit the local supermarket in my work clothes. It never occurred to me before to notice the gender divide on the expectations of dress and appearance when nipping in to the local Sainsbury/Tesco/whatever to pick up the ingredients for tonight's supper. But I'm here to tell you that it's real.
I face a choice: I can either pop in to the shop in my workclothes, or I can shower and change, only to get totally scruffy again when I get back home. To me, it's a non-brainer. And I often see local workmen in the supermarket, dressed in whatever they were wearing when they realised they needed a sandwich for lunch or some chicken to make a Thai stir fry for the family later. Dirty jeans, safety boots, paint-spattered dungarees... No-one turns a hair.
But I turn lots of hairs in my paint-spattered dungarees. There are double takes, nudges, and even - on one occasion - sotto voce grumbles of horror from an impeccably turned out elderly lady.
I recently had the opportunity to turn one encounter into a pleasant conversation. I was in CostCo at the meat counter, standing near a little girl and her Daddy. The little girl looked at my attire and turned to say something to her Dad, pointing at me as she did so (she was only little). She realised that I was watching her and was utterly mortified. I said "It's not usual to see ladies dressed like this, is it?"
Her Dad was clearly relieved that I didn't take offence and explained that she was asking if that was paint on my clothes.
I looked straight at the little girl and confirmed that it was, indeed. I said, "These are my work clothes. I've come straight from work and I'm buying something for supper. I suppose that's what you're doing, too?" She nodded.
I explained, "I've been painting somebody's kitchen today. I know it's not usual for ladies to do work like that, but it's what I do. And I love it. Because girls can do anything!"
Her Dad added and emphatic "Absolutely!" before the little girl, completely without prompting, said, "Thank you."
I told her she was most welcome and took my leave.
So let them look. Let them nudge each other. Let them make their sotto voce grumbles of horror. I'm a girl who wears dungarees to work. And if I have to make a quick detour to the shops, I will do so in my dungarees. And maybe, just maybe a little girl will see me and think that she might also enjoy a job that just happened to involve getting dirty or wearing dungarees, and maybe those jobs aren't just for boys after all.
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| A brief modelling 'career' |
Now that I'm on the far side of 50, I don't turn heads with natural assets any more.
I do, however, turn heads when I visit the local supermarket in my work clothes. It never occurred to me before to notice the gender divide on the expectations of dress and appearance when nipping in to the local Sainsbury/Tesco/whatever to pick up the ingredients for tonight's supper. But I'm here to tell you that it's real.
I face a choice: I can either pop in to the shop in my workclothes, or I can shower and change, only to get totally scruffy again when I get back home. To me, it's a non-brainer. And I often see local workmen in the supermarket, dressed in whatever they were wearing when they realised they needed a sandwich for lunch or some chicken to make a Thai stir fry for the family later. Dirty jeans, safety boots, paint-spattered dungarees... No-one turns a hair.
 |
| Dungarees and a dust mask |
I recently had the opportunity to turn one encounter into a pleasant conversation. I was in CostCo at the meat counter, standing near a little girl and her Daddy. The little girl looked at my attire and turned to say something to her Dad, pointing at me as she did so (she was only little). She realised that I was watching her and was utterly mortified. I said "It's not usual to see ladies dressed like this, is it?"
Her Dad was clearly relieved that I didn't take offence and explained that she was asking if that was paint on my clothes.
I looked straight at the little girl and confirmed that it was, indeed. I said, "These are my work clothes. I've come straight from work and I'm buying something for supper. I suppose that's what you're doing, too?" She nodded.
I explained, "I've been painting somebody's kitchen today. I know it's not usual for ladies to do work like that, but it's what I do. And I love it. Because girls can do anything!"
Her Dad added and emphatic "Absolutely!" before the little girl, completely without prompting, said, "Thank you."
I told her she was most welcome and took my leave.
So let them look. Let them nudge each other. Let them make their sotto voce grumbles of horror. I'm a girl who wears dungarees to work. And if I have to make a quick detour to the shops, I will do so in my dungarees. And maybe, just maybe a little girl will see me and think that she might also enjoy a job that just happened to involve getting dirty or wearing dungarees, and maybe those jobs aren't just for boys after all.
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