My plea for individuality
I have a bone to pick with Miuccia Prada and I’ll tell you why. Companies are still stubbornly adhering to what is commonly referred to as a ‘uniform,’ which I like to call a ‘straitjacket.’ Sure, it may be simpler not to think about what you are going to wear to work every day and some may argue it allows you to seamlessly fit in, but humour me this, what if you don’t want to ‘fit in’? All my life, I have had to ‘fit’ into particular roles: daughter, granddaughter, girlfriend, student… you get the idea, right? But where in that list of roles can I just be Nessa? With zero shame or alterations, because let’s be real here, when Nonno is around (in case this isn’t a familiar term for you, Nonno means grandpa in Italian), I’m not wearing a short dress or a top that reveals my cleavage.
People express themselves in many different ways and dressing up has always been my way. It is in my nature to wear every colour of the rainbow (sometimes all at once) and conforming to look like everyone else was never something I’ve been keen about. Wearing a so-called ‘uniform’ restricts me from being who I am, and I hate that feeling.. it torments my soul. I feel like my personality is trapped inside of a naked shell, crying out for help. You may think I’m a nutter (I certainly am) and completely disagree with me (that is 100% your right), but this is just how I feel. I can’t be myself if I don’t feel like myself. Isn’t there an expression that says ‘dress like who you want to be?’… well, I want to be free of constraints.
The only time you will EVER see me in all black is when I am attending a funeral (I was raised hella Catholic, and no, I will not apologise for my potty mouth) and let me tell you, the tears dripping down my face aren’t only in regards to paying my respects, but to all the bright and colourful outfits I could have worn that day.
These tormented feelings have resurfaced because I recently started a new part-time job for a company that I have been really keen to work for. I cannot stress how grateful I am to be a part of their community so it is very important for me to point out that this has nothing to do with the job itself or my co-workers, but my own personal feelings towards individuality and overall objection of the work uniform. Having clarified this, I feel more comfortable uttering the inner struggles I have endured over the last few months with wearing a uniform again, specifically after a 6 month period of wearing whatever my heart desired.
So, I will agree to disagree with you on this, Miuccia, because I do not want to wear a white pleated cotton skirt and blue sweater to work every bloody day.
This is my plea:
A part of me dies
When I put on my sober uniform
All I can think of is
Why do I feel this way?
No one warned me
I try to make it work
Adding an accessory or two
The rings on my fingers
The red paint on my lips
I live a life in colour
Enchanted by prints and patterns
Dressing is my personal art form
A playful endeavour
Animated by memories of garments past, inspired by conviction
I do not agree with this imposition
It is not welcome here
Magic cannot happen with
Utilitarian, unadorned clothes
A uniform is the type of order that
Sucks the life out of you
The kind that leaves you depleted
It creeps up on you at first
With little to no visible signs
Masked as a company policy
To all of a sudden drain you of your personality
But as children we are taught to
conform to societies constructed norms
without question or objection
but why?
Our power lies in our individuality
Yet we release our control
To this suffocating force
To vacate our only canvas
In the name of homogeneity
Why do we yield to this wretched defacing trickery
When we are still struggling to preserve our originality
Our job is to demand change
To rebel against streamlined ways of dressing
How many years will that take
Before we perish into soulless robots
Isn’t that where we are headed?
Because in the end
Whether it’s a dress code or uniform
An empty shell is an empty shell.
By Nessa Recine