Flotsam and Jetsam (Random Thoughts)

“No Capes!”

Interview Outfit
Photo by Adrienne Andersen from Pexels

For most of my working career, I’ve worn uniforms of one form or another. From lifeguarding at the local pool to my years as a vet tech, each position came with an expected appearance. And, in a lot of ways, that made my life easy. Even when barely coherent, it didn’t take much effort to get ready in the morning. So long as I kept the scrub tops and bottoms on separate shelves, I could manage to clothe myself. (And, yes, that was an early “lesson learned”) Throwing on that red bathing suit and a pair of shorts? It was even easier! While not allowing room for creativity or imagination, it provided structure and simplicity to my morning routine.

But it made interviews weird.

Everyone’s heard the phrase “dress for the job you want.” Frankly, I think it’s a stupid adage. No one walks to the pool in a bathing suit with a whistle around their neck. Mostly because the managers figure that you showed up because you were interested in a lifeguarding position. (Either that, or you were an idiot incapable of realizing the pool was still closed for the winter) You dressed like a responsible individual, exuding confidence that you could – if needed – rescue a drowning individual. No matter how attractive you look in swim wear, that isn’t the image projected.

The same thing goes for the medical field. While they KNOW you’re there for the technician position they’re so desperate to fill (newsflash: the veterinary field is always short-staffed), no one’s impressed by someone walking in the door in scrubs. I don’t care what Hollywood shows you: NO ONE looks good in scrubs. They’re a functional garment, and there’s nothing fashionable about them. The interview is meant to demonstrate (again) responsibility, maturity, and intelligence. And if you want the job, you’re going to dress appropriately.

Or you’re going to end up looking for work elsewhere.

So, yeah, stupid rule. And I’ve always laughed at it. (If I dressed for the job I WANTED, I’d bust out some dramatic successful supervillain creation – whatever that looks like. I’m also not sure it would work well at any of the places I’d apply…) But, for some strange reason, it hit between the eyes when I was staring down the barrel of an interview for a writing job. I panicked. What in the world are you supposed to wear to convey the image of intelligence, creativity, dependability, competence, and everything else someone could want out of a writer? How to portray the essence of WRITER?

I stood in front of my dresser, walked back to my closet, and I fretted. What have I seen successful, professional writers wear? That, it turned out, was a stupid question to ask. My only exposure to those people has been Cons. And what did they wear? Well, some wore costumes. (An interesting idea, but probably not the best) A few DID dress in business attire. But the majority? They looked like average, ordinary, COMFORTABLE individuals. Probably because that’s what writers ARE, when you think about it.


Freelance writers? We don’t sit in front of our computers and laptops in business suits. (If some of you do, fantastic. I hope you have a comfy chair) We’re not the corporate type. Everyone has an individual voice they lend to their work. And that’s reflected in what we throw on each day. Our appearance is as unique as the tone of voice we capture in sentences. And our publications? Those are what speak for us LOUDEST. So why was I fretting over something like what to wear – in a Zoom interview, of all things?

It made me stop and reassess. Instead of trying to go out of my way and figure out what a “professional freelance writer” (such an absurd concept) might look like, why didn’t I look like ME? They had my portfolio with my work. They weren’t trying to figure out if I could walk into an office every day with heels and a dress (been there, done that). No, they wanted a writer who could meet deadlines, prepare content, and provide creativity. (The fact my hair’s currently bright pink was probably already a strike against me for the whole corporate thing, anyway) So why not dress like ME? Isn’t that who they were interviewing in the first place? A quirky, creative writer a little outside of the box?

Oh, wait – that WAS the job I wanted!

In the end, I didn’t throw on anything other than my usual clothing. I even forgot to put my contacts in and had my glasses on (not that they’re bad or anything – I quite like them). No makeup, no jewelry, and nothing special beyond my Hocus, Pocus “My Lucky Rat Tail” socks (for luck, of course) – and the interviewer couldn’t see those, anyway. Oh, and Tonks, of course. She participates in EVERY work call I attempt. (How she knows the sound of that camera coming on is beyond me)

Maybe my different, casual look dinged me. Or maybe it didn’t, because the focus was on, oh, I don’t know – the strength of my answers to the questions? I guess I’ll have to wait and see. But I’M in a better place in regards to the whole interview outfit question. I’m a weird, creative person! And that’s the image I want to project. I’m submitting proposals to jobs that look for energy and entertainment and the ability to engage people. I can do that, without scrambling to overhaul my wardrobe. If nothing else, I’ll stand out from the crowd. And THAT’S something you want in the freelance world.

Maybe there’s a little something to dressing for the job you want – provided it’s the right job. And if anyone sees a posting out there for supervillain, let me know! I have the PERFECT outfit!

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