Bad vibes

I like to think I've got style.

I try and buy clothes that I like, that fit me well, that cover my body appropriately, but still give off that essence of who I am.

Because who I am is not buttoned-up, close-toed, and professional.

I'm a barefoot kind of girl. Non-breathable materials make me sweat. And my yoga pants are among some of my most prized possessions.

I stopped wearing black once I graduated high school and realized that color wasn't my enemy and that black isn't always "naturally slimming."

I'm the chick that takes full advantage of casual Fridays. And if I plan to walk more than five steps in any direction on any given day, I'm not wearing heels.

I love jewelry, but I don't really do understated. And while tank tops are my friend, I don't do clingy fabrics.

I wore maxi dresses before they were cool, and I screamed with joy the day crop tops became passe'.

That's just me. I like feminine styles, bright colors, and comfortable pieces. I wear big jewelry and lots of layers. I rarely do my hair, preferring to leave it textured, curly, natural and pinned back in whatever manner my time and bobby-pin availability allows. But I rarely leave home without a cardigan and my basic foundation-blush-mascara applied.

It's who I am.

Still, post-college, it was difficult to translate my look - daily - into the teacher-professional world, where modesty, comfort and mobility are all prerequisites when considering what outfit to don for the day.

I spent many a day in your basic button-down shirt and dress pants - all in dull, coordinating shades of blacks, grays, blues, and whites. I was uncomfortable, stiff, and totally unrecognizable, even to myself.

After all, I spent weeks wearing clothes I had to iron.

And, my friends, I don't iron.

Ever.

Soon enough, though, I began to mix-and-match more signature pieces into my wardrobe, throwing brightly colored sweaters on with slacks, or wearing a ruffly blouse with a pair of khakis. I wore dresses with cardigans and skirts with bold colors and bright prints.

I found my way back to looking like me, while still remaining professionally appropriate.

I was more comfortable in my own skin, and I received compliments from my co-workers. Occasionally, even a student would even comment on my jewelry or my shoes. Dressing every morning was fun again.

And so, without much thought, on this past casual Friday, I donned the following:

Your basic blouse, trouser jeans, ballet flats, and earrings - my Friday uniform.

Nothing fancy. This is my normal I-can-wear-jeans-to-work-today outfit.

Tons of students and fellow teachers viewed the outfit; one even told me she loved my top.

And then I started my last class of the day.

I broke my students into pairs, mingling among them to help them finish up projects and answer questions. Things were quiet; kids were working; I was wearing yellow. All was right in my world.

Until finally, one of my more outspoken kids piped up.

"Mrs. C, have you ever smoked p-t?"

You could have knocked me over with a peasant blouse, my friends.

But I had to respond. And quickly.

"No, sir, I have not. Though even if I had, why on Earth would I tell you, in front of all of your classmates? I think you need to step outside and think about the appropriate-ness of that question."

The kid sulked away and got up to go out the door.

But not before a more teacher-fearing student whispered to him, "Why would you ask a teacher that? What did you expect her to say?"

To which he responded, all too loudly, "Well, I don't know. She wears all that flowy, flowery stuff, and just looks like she may have smoked p-t at one time. What was I supposed to think?"

Then he skedaddled out the door before I could throttle him.

Luckily, most of the class had returned to their work, used to ignoring this one trying, out-of-the-box student. He's always coming up with something.

But I couldn't. Me and my peasant blouse were hurt.

After all, I realize I'm a little bit crunchy-granola. I realize I'm a little bit bohemian. I realize that if I could go bra-less, I would (and have - but never at work!)

But I don't think I appear like I'm going to take a "smoke break" in the teacher's lounge when I need to unwind.

Apparently, though, I thought wrong.

And therefore, it made me re-think my whole look.

Because when a 17-year-old boy calls you out on your "flowy, flowery" clothes, you might have a problem.

A drug problem, to be exact.

Or you may just look like you have one.

Whatever.

The point is, I'm now having flashbacks to being 15 and trying to hide behind black pants and a black sweatshirt that didn't make me feel like an ugly, fat beast.

My clothes had failed me; my look had failed me; my students are days away from signing me up for "What Not To Wear," under the auspice that she "always dresses like she's high, Stacey and Clinton. Help us help her! Before it's too late!"

So, who wants to be my personal shopper? I'll pay you with lots of hugs and popcorn.

We'll go out to the malls and such, hit a few stores, then come back and relax while we look over our purchases.

And by "relax," I totally don't mean "smoke p-t." Didn't want you to get the wrong idea.

I tend to give off that kind of vibe, I'm told...

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Happy Thursday everyone!