In Defense of Wearing a Uniform

I feel like a lot of us, women in particular, spend an inordinate amount of time feeling guilty about things there is no reason to feeling anything about at all. Guilt can be helpful when it stops you from doing something you should not or pushes you to admit to and make amends for something you know you should not have done.I’m not talking about productive guilt. I’m talking about making yourself feel shitty for not meeting your own arbitrary standards. I routinely feel bad about the following:

watching Netflix when I should be reading
reading when I should be cleaning
cleaning to avoid writing
ordering takeout after we go to the grocery store
wearing the same things over and over when I have a closet full of clothes

Uniform by glassescase featuring black pants

I don’t know if that last one is a problem that is unique to people who spend most of their time at home (telecommuters, stay-at-home parents, the generally agoraphobic), but I regularly feel a little guilty about pulling on a pair of leggings, a striped tee shirt, and a cardigan instead of spending a few extra minutes putting together an outfit (and hoping my dog does not pee on the floor waiting for me to pull myself together.) Instead of taking time for myself like Oprah and Pinterest said I should, I’ve elected to do the most efficient thing and must hope that if I have to leave the apartment to do anything more than walk my aforementioned dog, I will not embarrass myself (this has yet to actually happen because of leggings.) Karl Lagerfeld, President Obama, and Joan Didion all have signature uniforms and I doubt any of them feel bad about not expending excess energy getting dressed in the morning…why do I feel bad about my leggings?

Granted, two of the people I mentioned wearing impeccably tailored suits every day and the other is exudes so much cool we have categorically forgiven her for the oversized hair clips she uses. There is little about my uniform that telegraphs as professional. It’s comfortable. I can take a break from the computer and stretch, which I do regularly. Yoga in a pantsuit is pretty roundly discouraged. My uniform is also basic. “Basics” is literally the section of most shops you go to to purchase leggings and cardigans. “Basic” has also come to mean for a woman who enjoys accessible things genuinely. Leggings, infinity scarves, affordable red wine, riding boots, scented candles, brunch, Diet Coke, Taylor Swift–all “basic.” All things (and people) I enjoy without ironic detachment. “Basic” is a way to make adult women into teenage girls and you know how the world loves to hate teenage girls.

I suppose I could lean into my uniform and gut the rest of my closet, but I’m unwilling to do that. I like having the option of wearing a midi-length tulle skirt to the grocery store. In much the same way that using my Kindle more has not led to any thorough culling of my physical book collection, resorting to a particular rotation of similar outfits throughout the week does not leave me wanting to toss of my more eclectic stuff.
I give it up. I give up the guilt, that is…I’m keeping my uniform and the rest of my stuff.