Take my days as a Social Work intern at the VA
Hospital in Houston for example. All Social Work students were
required to wear a white coat while on duty at the hospital. Since
the medical interns also wore white coats there was a distinction
made, we wore knee length coats and looked like the Marx Brothers
while the docs-to-be wore coats that were about suit-coat length and
looked suave. Desiring the suave look too, a life-long pursuit of
mine, never mind the psychological journey about that, I managed to
acquire a "doc" coat.
Would you be amazed at how often I was stopped in
hallways by a patient seeking medical advice?
Would you be more amazed to learn that, despite
the fact that I always told the inquirer that I was not a
doctor at all but was just wearing " a doc coat." that this
never made a difference? Dismissing every denial I could make about
having any medical expertise at all, the questioner would press on
as if it was the coat that, by being worn, conveyed magical
properties the wearer could not deny.
After awhile, I just referred all inquiries to the
proper department of medicine. I became very good at giving
directions. Which were always believed.
These days I am copying a bunch of old home video
tapes to DVD in order to cut down on the storage problem and to
preserve some family history. I note the "uniforms" I have sported
over time, though since I left the formal practice of Social Work,
especially in hospitals, I dropped the three piece suit uniform I
wore as Director of Something or Other, and have remained consistent
in my preference for the New Mexico costume, boots, jeans, casual
shirt, silver and turquoise.
I only diverge from this theme when I am working
on something; cutting down trees, hauling water, working on a
vehicle.
It was in this latter situation that I experienced
the old doc-coat thing the other day. Just to make working-on-stuff
simple I purchased a re-cycled pair of coveralls from a car parts
place in the area. Some of these may have been worn by mechanics at
Pep Boys or some other franchise repair shop. They were the
mechanics version of a "doc-coat" with dark rectangles where
nametags were once sewed on, reflective panels, zipper fronts, etc.
I was in a parts store getting a new battery for my truck when a guy
walks up to me holding a transmission gasket and asks, "Can I re-use
this thing? Nobody seems to have a new one around here."
There was absolutely no question in his demeanor
about what he thought I was;.......I was what I was wearing.
Realizing that: 1. No one in the parts store had
been able to give him an answer to this question. 2. I looked like a
mechanic who knew something and, since I had the age-
advantage was granted the assumption of wisdom-in-all-things (I
love that part about ageing). 3. Explaining that I have rather
limited knowledge about the subject.......though I do have some,
would not deter him from seeking answers from this mechanic-looking
guy.
Namely, me.
But! 4. Since I'd hate to see the guy put the
gasket back on and then have it leak, I'd have to tweak my advice;
"Well, it looks like it's in good shape and if you use gasket sealer
it should be alright. A new one would be better, but this might work
out if you have no other choice."
Since none of the three people working in the
store, or the two other customers who, by the grease they sported
looked to be working on their own auto problems, contradicted this
advice, I felt that I must have been in the mechanical correctness
ballpark with it at least.
I mean, nobody said, as guys who know
better will do MOST of the time, "I wouldn't if it were me." So my
conscience rested.
I just hope the damned thing didn't leak.
So, what's in a suit? Obviously the
dress-for-success observation is based upon how we respond to what a
person wears and, by the way, we all know that this is region
dependant. When I attended a wedding back east my New Mexico
"uniform" elicited sneers from the Geoffrey Beene guys. I had
considered going undercover by wearing one of my old Beene or Yves
St. Lauren suits, but, since the only footwear I had was either
boots or Nikes, I decided to remain a "maverick" and stay true to my
(acquired) and preferred roots. Besides, by this time I had entered
my the-hell-with-'em years.
Where I still dwell.
All of this to say that the, "I can tell by your
outfit that you are a........" President, artist, medicine man, pan
handler, sex goddess, Texan, gay," etc., etc. is about as accurate
an indicator of persona and character as any other book cover. We
really don't know who is inside the suit, only that they can afford
it and prefer the Look.
