Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Fashion to Die For
In the parade of patients I get the occasional goth-dressing type in the office. They're generally very pleasant, articulate people. One showed up yesterday, dressed all in black, jet jewelry, heavy eye liner, all par for the course. What threw me was her purse: it was shaped like a coffin. Looked exactly like the one in the link.
Then there's the more annoying fashionista type - the retired woman who comes in dressed to the nines, dripping with jewelry, always talks about her next trip abroad and never ceases to complain about her copay going up. (Not to mention the cost of meds.) Grr.
Then there's me. I am pretty damned hopeless at this sort of thing - I will never win the award for Best Dressed Doctor. I tend to go with what's comfortable (when I was a resident, it took a stern edict from the residency director to get me to stop wearing scrubs). This morning, for example, I got scolded by my secretary. I have a dinner meeting tonight and came in wearing my new ensemble. My secretary wandered into my office, noted the outfit with approval, fingered my earrings:
"Now show me your shoes."
I knew I was about to ruin my good impression. Reluctantly, I extended a foot. I was wearing my flat clunkers - not even my prettier flats, as one of them was lost and nowhere to be found this morning.
"AAAH! I'm going to kill you! You need pumps with that outfit!"
"I know, but I hate them."
"Just little ones! They don't have to be high!"
Ten minutes later she came marching in with a catalog and slapped it down in front of me, to emphasize her point:
"You need these in navy, black, brown and beige."
I cringed. We're going to be debating this one for a while.