The worst part about graduation is not the fact you are becoming an adult, but the fact that you must now pretend you are an adult. Even though you still prefer Cocoa Krispies over caviar, and Britney over Beethoven, the trick is now fooling the rest of the world into believing you are a pensive, responsible, highly educated adult so you can get hired. And if "first impressions count" and "appearance is everything," then you had better be dressing for success. Which means only one thing: you need a suit.
Before I ever had to think about getting a real job - back when job-hunting was a choice between camp counseling and babysitting - I couldn't wait for the day when I would wear a suit. With razor sharp lines and precision tailoring, this garment would transform me into an intimidating yet extremely sexy executive-cum-rock star. From nine to five, I would pace back and forth on towering stilettos, winning accounts and closing deals, a pinstriped predator in the urban jungle. At night, the ball-busting jacket would be exchanged for some floaty-deconstructed-Chloe-type top, perfect for an after-work date, or perhaps a movie premiere across the Atlantic. Alas, when you're 21 and about to graduate, life looks a lot less like a magazine spread than it did when you were 15 and scooping ice cream cones.
I know this because I went shopping for a suit last weekend. I have a job interview coming up for a PR firm, and I need to look professional, experienced, and above all, not like a 21-year-old college graduate. Finally, the time has arrived when I legitimately need a suit.
The day looked promising as I began my expedition: the sun was out, the sky was blue, and there were a minimum of screaming children along Newbury Street. The first stop was Emporio Armani, a logical choice for something corporate, classic, and understatedly elegant. Ascending the stairs to the women's floor, I felt confident this would be a one-stop trip. But as I reached the top of the stairs, instead of seeing rack upon rack of sober-colored separates, I see only white, gauzy, and obscenely sheer sundresses. Resort attire. Cabana-wear. In disbelief, I scan the store. Apparently the recession is worse than I thought and everyone is packing up for Fiji. The dark gray jacket and dress coordinates that had lingered barely weeks ago were now nowhere to be seen and in their place hang millions of sheer pants in ridiculous shades of cream, sand, and ecru. Disenchanted, I try on the only two suits in the store, and I emerge from the dressing room feeling even worse, my reflection in the mirror resembling Cruella de Vil's corporate kid sister. Next store.
Deciding to play the numbers game, I head to Saks. With so many designers under one roof, I'm bound to hit pay dirt within the hour. I soon realize I would have hit pay dirt only if my interview was for the circus. These suits have so many tricks to them, I'm surprised they don't come with assembly instructions. The best fitting suit I found had puffed sleeves on the jacket (I mean, honestly...) and the simplest one could only be described as vaguely resembling a tulip. I'm just glad I came alone.
The rest of the day was not much better. After hitting every (and I mean every) possible store in the Greater Boston area, the few suits I come across fall into two categories. One: those that transform me into an airline check-in attendant. As in, the person who checks your bags. I can't even pass for a stewardess in these getups. Two: those that age me a good 30-plus years. Box-cut and droopy, they practically scream "post-menopausal," and I get hot flashes just from glancing at them. I look like I'm heading to a costume ball as a latter-day Liz Taylor. Evidently, being a sexy corporate rock star is just too much to ask for.
Disenchanted and demoralized, I make my way back home, a little older, a little wiser, and a little less Vogue. There are many things that I dread shopping for: socks, funeral attire, and textbooks being some examples. I can now add suits to the top of that list. My advice for my fellow graduates is to put those magazines away and deal with the situation rationally. Keep your chin up, hold your head high, and persevere, no matter how painful. Though it may seem otherwise, ultimately, as I realized, you are in control of the situation: when life throws you lemons, the smart ones find a really good tailor.
