Saturday, November 14, 2009
If I suspect a day at the (high-rise) coalface will be more soporific than most, I like to add a touch of sartorial snap to the power suit.
For all their ubiquity, fishnet stockings still make me feel delightfully anti-establishment. I flatter myself the look achieved is more "whimsical" than "trashbag" but semiotics is such a subjective business, innit.
Further, a pair of shiny shoes flushes billable minutes away in reflective distraction. See how the harsh fluorescent light plays upon the patent leather? It's poetry, like the Corporations Act.
The problem is, the tedium of the tasks in this town is such that one needs to up the distraction dosage almost daily: stockings alone ain't going to cut it, nor will an outrageous pair of stilts. Epic eighties-style shoulder pads seem the only solution, short of a clown suit.
Why yes, it is puerile and superficial and a completely Pyrrhic victory. These declarations of independence from corporate hell are, of course, in utter conformity with established modes of femininity.
So I'm trapped on many levels, really, which gives me something serious to mull over - other than the blisters on my feet.
See how the billable time just trickles away?