After graduating from college, I set off for Washington, DC with new hopes and old clothes… very old clothes.
A neighbor who had been like a grandmother to me had passed away and, not having professional clothes, I inherited hers. If you’re thinking the clothes of an 81-year-old might look odd on a 21-year-old, you’re exactly right, but there I was. I’d taken a job as a legal assistant to gauge the practice of law from the inside before committing to another three years of school and relied on this new-to-me wardrobe to look the part.
It was a hot DC summer and I’d been tasked with hauling boxes of evidence in and out of the courthouse every day of every week for a multi-week trial. Given particularly intense heat one day, I thought myself terribly clever to have picked out a sleeveless off-white top with blue stitching. Sure, it was reminiscent of the H.M.S. Pinafore play we’d performed in third grade, but nevertheless seemed tailored and professional.