When one thinks of the corporate world probably several possible trite synonyms come to mind come to mind; Capitalism, Greed, and of course the ever prevalent rule of patriarchal executive leadership. But it is not just how men treat women in companies, but how women treat and judge each other; especially women in power roles.
Working at one of the largest food and beverage companies in the world, I thought I would be in for one of the most creative, freethinking experiences of my life. While, it was not all of that (it is a corporation after all), the worst part of my experience was how my body, and the clothes on it, gave the company an entitlement to outright discriminate, scold, shame, and make an example of me, all in the name of ‘the dress code.’
Up to this point, I had spent more than eight years in school, acquired two Masters degrees, and spent almost three years in another corporate position similar to my new position at the food and beverage corporation. I was more than qualified for my position, and was competent in my job and duties.
But during this time, my body had also been transforming. At the point I had accepted my new position, I had already lost more than 100 lbs, just through diet and exercise. Even more, on my interview, my new female manager and female director seemed equally excited, and exuberant. It was an exciting time; a new job, and was experimenting with what my new body could do, the clothes it could wear and the story and rhetoric I was excited to tell with those clothes: Thrills. Joy. Elation. A new dress, leggings, BOOTS! They even zip up the calf! Every tiny milestone from zipping up a boot to putting on a pair of hosiery helped tell a new story of my ever-evolving body. But soon after, I noticed, not everyone in my corporation felt the same way about dressing, and they all had a slightly different idea of what ‘professional’ meant.
The ‘dress code’ that was ‘enforced’ by the organization, and by enforced, I mean, enforced on me, was loosely worded and probably could use some updating—it even mentioned that wearing “coveralls” to work was not allowed. Well, I’m glad that was cleared up– But for me, dressing profesh, it took on something exciting. A zest. A black tailored sport jacket, white polka-dotted oxford and black vest on top, leggings and a black skirt on bottom with a pair of dainty Tory flats. Tiny pearl earrings were delicately placed, bracelets that shimmered just enough, but didn’t distract—I placed each item with intention and thought.
I worked in an all female group, with a female manager above me and, and female director above her. Both middle aged women, conservative in their dress, not overly showy, but not slouchy, but nothing that ever told me anything about them. It always looked like a uniform. They always looked miserable. Maybe it was hours, maybe it was the work, but maybe it was what they were wearing to.
On one early Friday, I woke up and excitedly put on my new outfit. A cardigan sweater set, a pair of my favorite leggings (black of course) and a pair of gold flats that tied in my headband and bracelet that day. I was typing away diligently when my manager popped into my cubicle—“excuse me Tiffany, could I talk to you in private?” When someone asks to speak to you private, you know it’s never good. I had started going over all my emails in my head; did I send out something incorrectly? Did I give out misinformation? Did I miss something off my to do list? Alas, it was none of these things.
Entering the small conference room, I was invited to sit down. My manager sat down with a solemn look on her face. “I’m here today to discuss with you your outfit. It is in violation of the company dress code.” “Dress code? “ I replied, “Yes, leggings are a clear violation of the dress code because they are too form fitting. I have to ask that you leave the office now and go home and change. “
I was beside myself. Go home? Seriously? My rhetoric was obviously professional. I was more than snappy casual. I looked like I belonged in an office. Then I thought—form fitting? That is so strange—I’ve seen many girls here wear leggings, tiny pencil skirts, even mini skirts—why are they not being sent home? I left work and went home and changed into a flared trouser and returned to work. Everyone of course had noticed that I not only had left work, but also returned wearing a different outfit.
Did I pee my pants? Did I bend over and break my pants? Did I just need a tampon? How embarrassing. Of course, it was none of those. I had to explain simply that I was in violation of the dress code and anyone who is in violation will be sent home accordingly.
A few weeks went by without incident and I thought everything was fine. I continued to do my job without incident. I thought things were even going great. So great in fact, that I even purchased my first house.
Then I wore a gorgeous knit Lilly Pulitzer dress. Oh Lilly, you scoundrel. The dress was a high boat neck with three quarter length sleeves; it was just past the kneecap in length. I topped it off with a pair of brand new black tights, and a pair of Tory Burch wedges. I tied a lofty top knot in my hair and a smart pair of glasses and I was on my way to work. Mid-way through the day, I was again interrupted by my manager. I again, had to enter the small conference room. “I wanted to talk to you again about the dress code.” I quickly interjected “Yes, as you noticed, I have not wore a single pair of leggings and I have been wearing suits and dresses each day.” “Well, that’s why you’re here,” she relayed. “We think your dress is too ‘curve-hugging,’ we have to ask that you go home and change, because you are again in violation of the dress code.” I started to giggle, “Wait, this, THIS [pulling on the fabric of the arm] DRESS, is in violation? This is the most conservative outfit I own. I don’t understand.” She again said “yes, but it’s too form fitting for your shape. We have to ask that you change it. My suggestion to you, would be to go the store and buy some more ‘flowy’ clothes.” I thought to myself: ‘What the hell are flowy clothes? I think it’s a euphemism for FAT clothes. Muumuus. Disguise. To become invisible. But why?’
This time, I felt it was no longer a fluke. It was no longer a ‘dress code’ issue. It was body discrimination. This body, the one that I had worked so hard to achieve, was STILL not good enough. My waist was at its smallest point, I had never had hips so tiny, and clothes so delicate. Yet, my boss, a woman, a woman that I looked up to, felt it necessary to tell me that my body shape was wrong and not suitable for the corporate environment, and frankly, not welcome there.
Against my will, I scoured my local stores for ‘flowy’ clothes. My self-esteem was low, and I now needed big flowy clothes to cover up my curves and become invisible. As I tried on the clothes, I felt my heart sink. It just wasn’t me. I felt the zest leaving me as I pulled on the elastic waist banded flowy pants and tied my hair in an unkempt low bun. I continued to work, and promised myself to focus on the other things I loved, like my interior design, and my new house.
My next internal review was a reflection of all of my “poor choices” in company dress. The new negative halo that was getting heavier to carry seemed to cast a dark shadow over every area of my work, and they made sure to share that with me. Things seemed to get more and more tense in the office.
It was only a couple weeks later, walking the halls in my black flowy pants, grey shirt with collar trimmed in black leather and a low spun bun, delicately kept with black bobby pins, that I was now pulled into my female director’s office.
“Tiffany, I just don’t know what to do with you. First your clothes are too tight. Now, your clothes are too loose!! You look like you are walking around in cut off yoga pants. Frankly, you are an embarrassment to the entire establishment, and a poor reflection of our department. I expected so much more from you, and you turned out to be such a disappointment.” Tears rolled down my face as I tried to process the words. OK. WAIT. TOO LOOSE? This time I had to say something. “Ok, first, my clothes were too tight, I started wearing, very work appropriate dresses, and it was still not good enough. Then, I took my manager’s advice, and bought ‘flowy’ clothes, and it’s still not good enough? I don’t understand what you want. I don’t understand why I’m being singled out when there are so many people in this department, in this office that are wearing mini skirts, or tight clothes, or perhaps even too flowy clothes.” “ENOUGH TIFFANY. “ She slammed her fist down on the desk. She was angrier than I had ever seen her. “GO HOME NOW AND CHANGE AND DO NOT RETURN UNTIL YOU ARE APPOPRIATE TO WORK IN THIS DEPARTMENT.”
It was only a few short weeks later that I left the company. The idea of being trapped in an environment that not only stifled my creativity but even controlled the way I dressed in such a way that discriminated my very shape was not acceptable, no matter how much they paid. It was the scariest thing I had ever done—after all, I had a new house mortgage, no job, and I was going to start my own new path; I liked to call it my official retirement from the corporate world.
The tragedy in all of this, is not just the body discrimination that happened, but also, the fact that in corporations, where it is such a struggle already for women to succeed, that women will so readily abuse other women for the way that we are built naturally. We have large hips that are meant to bear and hold children. Our curved breasts are meant to nourish newborns. It’s evolutionary, not revolutionary. The female body should never be put down, no matter how many curves (or straight lines) it may have. Our differences should be celebrated, and even more by our women in power positions in our largest organizations.
