I recently returned from a jaunt to the lake to report on the Way To Go Challenge awards that recognizes businesses who participate in an alternative transportation sort of commuting contest thing. I rode my bike down there, I’ll have you know. Feel free to pat me on the back for my environmental stewardship. Anyway, story about the challenge in is tomorrow’s paper, but I’ll give you the highlights that won’t appear in the article now.
As I’m sitting waiting for the shebang to start, I see a whole crew of cool kids mosey through the doors. They didn’t look like the rest of the office-attired schmoes (or is it ‘”shmoes”?) in the room. They weren’t wearing ties or loafers or floral skirts. In they roll, hats cocked to the side, shorts sagging, sneakers flopping off their feet. They certainly didn’t look like any “business professionals” I’d ever seen. But then I caught a glimpse of their nametags. Their choice of togs became immediately clear. They worked for Burton, local snowboard giant and ultimate arbiter of all things cool. I was totally stoked to see them there. I was hoping that after the awards ceremony we could go bust some huge air for a session and then maybe go jib in the Burton parking lot for a bit. Word.
It’s not like we have a strict dress code here at the Free Press. Please. There are men who think nothing of wearing khaki shorts (pleated, no less) and white gym socks during the summer. Jeans are not just reserved for “casual Friday,” which incidentally was the worst sartorial idea in the world, as it ushered in the golf shirt era. I myself have been known to wear a loud hoodie to work every so often and I’ve entertained the idea of showing up in my jim-jams to see if anyone noticed. Currently, I’m wearing flip-flops and my toenails are not painted. GASP.
The Burton crew was something else though. It must be nice to where WHATEVER you like to work, so long as it’s made by Burton, Analog or Gravis, and so long as the clothing incorporates the entire spectrum of neon colors. For some reason, I find it hard to take people seriously who are wearing bright logo T-shirts and oversized flat-brim ball caps in business settings. I realize that these are “creative people” in a “creative field,” but perhaps it’s just my fuddy-duddy-ness peaking through. Or maybe I’m just jealous that I’m not cool enough to rock those threads. The occasional outing of my checkerboard Vans is all I feel I can get away with here.
Maybe I’ll take a fashion cue from the Burtonians. But if you see me tomorrow stylishly outfitted in a blaze orange T-shirt emblazoned with a ghetto blaster, some garish plaid shorts and a lime-green porkpie hat while begging for change in City Hall park, you’ll know what happened.
