I grumbled to myself in the bathroom this morning, slapping a number of variously nasty artificial substances on my face in preparation for a brief talk I had to give this afternoon. Bah, it’s not as though any of this mess actually helps. They say “lipstick on a pig” for a reason, you know. But people I don’t know will expect it. Dunno why they can’t just act like my coworkers, who all know I’m ugly and have learned not to care.
And then my glass-half-full device driver kicked in (I boot up slowly on Monday mornings) and I realized that being allowed to be ugly on the job, even just most of the time, is a major privilege that I should clutch lovingly to my unfashionably-oversized chest and never, ever lose sight of.
Yeah, you just think I’m kidding.
Back in the day, I did plenty of time as a temp clerical worker. I was young, skinny, and (just barely) conventionally attractive enough then to get plenty of work—and let’s not kid each other, in that business, young and skinny matters. So does being white. (If you think I’m wrong, I recommend Jackie Krasas Rogers’s book Temps for a reality check.)
Clothing and makeup matter too. I duly slathered my face with noisome gunk every bloody day. The least I could get away with, to be sure, but nonetheless—Susan “Realité” Shwartz had it right. It’s part of the uniform. An expensive, unhealthy, weird and rather clownish part.
And I don’t have to do it any more, except on special occasions. Oh, it’s marvelous!
Class issue? Major class issue, you betcha. If you’re a non-librarian working in a library, your appearance is probably up for scrutiny, and you may well be condescended to or spoken badly of if you don’t cut the appearance and uniform mustard, no matter what your work is like. And the lion’s share of the condescension comes from women, too. Never let it be said that we can’t oppress with the best of ’em.
(Have personally witnessed this, several places. For self-protection, am not naming names, not even names of places.)
Control, too. I mean, really, if a woman can’t call her face and body her own… I’m not saying that librarianship doesn’t have control issues—jargon is a locus of control I’ve seen my colleagues complain about, and technology is another. However, a left-handed benefit of the frump stereotype is that we don’t have “high standards” about pulchritude in our profession, which is all to the good in my book.
I’m smart and competent. Obviously. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be allowed to be ugly. Hell of a way to find out you’ve arrived, but all in all, I’ll take it.
