I keep thinking back to an interview I had, back when I was looking for an administrative job. The interview was at a temp agency, and the woman who “interviewed” me spent most of our conversation making comments about my wardrobe.
“When you come in for an interview, you need to dress appropriately.” I was wearing a white button-up shirt and black slacks. (Incidentally, that is a word I really hate. Slacks. Bleh.) “You should buy a black suit and wear that to interviews.” She studied my earlobes, currently sporting a modest set of silver hoops. A little too blingy, apparently. “No jewelry at all,” she instructed me. “And maybe a little makeup? Lipstick and eyeliner are always good.” I hated her of course, but made good use of her advice, successfully interviewing my way into the Company X admin job I cheerfully loathed for nine months.
Today I had an interview for a job as a freelance reporter with a local paper, my first job interview in two years. I still don’t own a black suit, but I have a brown one, so I got all respectabled in my suit and my lack of jewelry. I was reaching for the lipstick when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
Is this me? Kristen Larson, intrepid girl reporter? HELL no. I threw on a pair of jeans, some flashy jewelry, tossed the lipstick, let my hair down, and nailed that interview to the wall. And I got that job this very day. Oh yes. I walked back to the MUNI, swinging my hair around in the wind and smiling.
Fuck you, temp lady.