In these turbulent and yes, unprecedented times, it can be
really easy to despair over the state of society and the world at large. (Side
note: unprecedented has now replaced ‘moist’ as my least favorite word of all
time. Please update your files accordingly.) A quick scan of social media is guaranteed
to spiral me into levels of depression I didn’t know existed. I am as
uncomfortable learning that my friends and acquaintances are ‘anti-mask’ or ‘all
lives matter-ers’ as I would be seeing them naked. Watching my neighbors post
such eloquent and cogent tomes such as, “F*ck the police!” and “Just call a
social worker next time someone is murdered on your street” really makes the case
for quarantining and possibly also social Darwinism. The very idea of being loose,
in public, with these unmasked and foaming at the mouth keyboard warriors and
morons is an accurate depiction of what I imagine hell will be like. (Note to
self: get right with the Lord. You don’t want to go to this hell.)
Thankfully, I don’t need social media to fuel my depression.
I have my job to do that! Here in the times of COVID-19, my job is a non-stop
thrill ride of involuntary furloughs, unemployment woes, hiring freezes, salary
cuts, symptom tracking and contact tracing. It’s hard enough to lead myself through
all this – but I have the added responsibilities of trying to authentically,
honestly lead my own team through unchartered waters while also showing up and
coaching executives across the organization to lead through ambiguity and
uncertainty. Just typing that last sentence exhausted me – so imagine how I
feel during the average workday.
My primary coping mechanism – other than eating my feelings,
which is always an excellent go-to – is, of course, using humor. There are
plenty of serious, sad, hard, unfunny things in this world. There are also a
fair amount of absolutely ridiculous things and sometimes, a good giggle is
just what the doctor ordered.
A couple of days ago, I was exchanging text messages with a
former colleague turned friend who is in the midst of a job transition. He’s an
exceptional leader – the kind that people follow into the storm – with an impressive
resume and track record of success. (Looking to add someone to your executive
team or c-suite? Call me.) He was giving me an update on his job search and was
sharing that he’d gotten the, “we’ve decided to go another way” message on his
candidacy for a job he would have been amazing at. My natural instinct was to
shift into pep talk mode, but before whipping out my cheerleading skirt and
pom-poms, I had the foresight to pause and say something like this: Don’t
let this take the wind out of your sails. You have to believe that the right
opportunity is waiting for you. It is. You’ll find it. But maybe you’d prefer
that I stop with the motivational speech and instead, tell you a story about
the time I got stuck inside a sweater to take your mind off of things? Or shut
up entirely? Your call.
He opted for the sweater story. As I tried to distill this
humbling personal experience into text-sized snippets, I realized the sweater story is damn funny and if it doesn’t take your mind off
your troubles, you should seek immediate medical attention. If you’ve already endured or
enjoyed the sweater story, you may want to stop reading right here. But I
wouldn’t because it’s a darned good story no matter how many times you hear it.
Without further ado, allow me to share the story of the time I got stuck in a
sweater:
Picture it. We’re in pre-COVID times, which means that I’m
doing normal things like putting on pants and leaving the house on a regular
basis. I’m way behind on laundry and I’ve sent all my good pants to the local “Clean
‘N’ Press for Less” drycleaner to get de-dog furred and ironed. It’s a Wednesday
evening when I realize that my only options for work wear for the rest of the
week include my wedding dress (not seasonally appropriate for winter); my
Superman onesie/jammies (I hate to show-off my cape in public); or a sweat-stained
“South Dakota State Mom” t-shirt and ratty yoga pants. Since I have kind of an
important job with a “V” in my job title and my very own office with my very
own door, it’s important that I don’t show up to work naked. Or in my jammies. As
I begin the midweek laundry/dry cleaning panic, I notice a package has arrived
in the mail for me. It’s from Stitch Fix,
and if I play my cards right, there’s probably something contained within this
package that will solve my immediate clothing crisis. Thank you, baby Jesus!
If you’re not familiar with Stitch Fix, let me give you a quick
overview. (If you are familiar, feel free to bypass this paragraph.) Stitch Fix
is a personal style subscription service that leverages data science to deliver
personalization at scale. You fill out a survey online that includes information
about your size, measurements, and personal style preferences. A stylist at the
company then picks five items to send to you, selecting items based on your
survey answers, previous ordering history, and any access you give them to your
social media outlets. (Notice to my nerds – you may enjoy this HBR
article about Stitch Fix.)
My experiences with Stitch Fix have been hit or miss. Some
of my favorite wardrobe items are from Fixes past – and often, these are items
I would never ever have chosen for myself. Diaphanous tops, maxi-dresses and
skinny jeans are not things I’d ever choose for myself but are items that have found
their way into my closet thanks to my Stitch Fix stylist. And there have been
some items that are best forgotten. Those items have been quickly shoved into
the return envelope and sent back to where they came from.
So, there I am, in the midst of a clean clothing crisis when
fate provides me with a box of handpicked, stylist cultivated clothing. I tear
open the box with great anticipation and I spy with my little eye a very cute
sweater. (It’s winter so sweaters are weather appropriate.) Past experience has
taught me that many items of clothing that appear cute in the box actually do
not flatter my pear shape, so I decide that my next step is to try on the
sweater. I have high hopes for this article of clothing – so high, in fact,
that I’m already planning to pair it with a cute pair of black pants for work
the next day.
Before whipping off my current top, I get a glimpse of
myself in the mirror. What do you know? I’m having a *great* hair day! I make a
game time decision to push the limits of my existing (and very flattering) blowout
one more day, which means I need to mind the coif. I simply cannot pull the Fix
sweater over my head, so I decide to go in from underneath. I poke my arms
through the arm holes and try to free my head. Alas . . . here is where things
started to go so very wrong.
It’s super dark here inside this sweater. Did I stick an arm
through the head hole accidentally? No, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure
my arms are in the right place. Oops, I just licked yarn. Gross. Now I have
yarn tongue. Is this what it feels like to yack up a hairball? Am I turning
into my cat? God, I hope this isn’t messing up my hair. Maybe if I just
reposition myself? Lather. Rinse. Repeat. For five very long minutes, this Mensa candidate performed a
variety of machinations inside this sweater in an effort to free myself and
breathe fresh air. I no longer gave a flying fig newton about wearing this sweater
to work. I simply wanted this sweater to stop wearing me!
You don’t need to be Encyclopedia Brown
to clear up this mystery. The sweater? Did not have a head hole. It was
defective. A normal person would have likely figured this out in a manner of
seconds, but yours truly was stuck inside for five long minutes to solve this
riddle, flopping around like a perch out of water.
I’m sure you have questions. No, I did not keep the sweater.
I returned it and provided some very saucy feedback on the Stitch Fix website.
Some of you might think that doing so makes me a Karen.
I would urge you to adjust your thoughts because I can see the thought
bubble above your head and thoughts like that are what cause unfortunate ‘accidents’!
As I explained in a very un-Karen fashion, I do not have the requisite
levels of self-esteem to handle defective clothing. I now have to live with the
fact that I am that person who was stuck inside a sweater, and I simply
cannot devote any more time or money to therapy and still afford Stitch Fix. No,
I didn’t keep any items from that particular fix. No, I didn’t go to work naked
the rest of the week. If you must know, I Febrezed the living shit out of some ‘pre-worn’
items of dirty clothing and I unapologetically went to work with both hair and
clothing unwashed. Yes, I am still a Stitch Fix subscriber. No, I haven’t
received any other defective items. And yes, you can use my referral code to
purchase your very own Stitch Fix. You’re welcome: https://www.stitchfix.com/invite/deniselamere?sod=w&som=c
The moral of the story is this. We’re living in a scary,
sad, depressing world. It’s easy to fall down the rabbit hole of anger, sadness,
disgust, loneliness, rage, and melancholy. It’s okay to feel this way but
remember this: The world needs our collective sweater stories and a good belly
laugh now more than ever.
©Princess D 2020
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