Pajamas in Disguise

I have plenty of nice, legitimate work clothes.  Since my library requires business attire (leaning towards business casual), that works out well.

I do have a bad habit though.  I tend to think that the more my clothes feel like pajamas, the better.  I want to look professional while feeling like I could curl up in bed at any moment.

Most days, that works out fine.  I find a good balance between those goals, and nobody is the wiser.  But yesterday I wore one of my pieces of clothing that’s less appropriate for work.  Before you conjure up all sorts of images of “inappropriate” work wear, keep in mind that my gauge of appropriateness at the moment has to do with comfort vs. formality.

What was the offending item of clothing?  A red wool wrap that bears a striking resemblance to a fancy blanket.  I wore it with a dress and cute shoes, which maybe counts for something.  But it was pointed out by a few people that I basically had on a dressed up Snuggie.

Today, as a result of the comfortable awesomeness of yesterday, I almost automatically put on my favorite sloppy flannel shirt in my morning stupor.  Oops.


photo by Colin H


At least I haven’t tried to bust out any Pajama Jeans on casual Friday.   Does it bother you that Pajama Jeans exist?  I’m pretty sure I don’t want people to be confused about whether I’m going to bed or out for dinner with friends.


photo from


Comfort for a Fee

We have casual Friday options at my place of work.  The catch is that you’re only allowed to participate if you pay $3 for the right to dress down.  In the past, I’ve laughed at this option and done other things with my money.  It seemed totally illogical to spend good money on the right to wear pants that I can wear after work for free.

Then this morning happened.

I got out of bed at 7:20, into the shower at 7:54, and needed to be out of the house at 8:00.  With 2 minutes for hair, makeup, and clothing choice, there isn’t much room for deliberation.  With virtually no ironed clothes and a stack of dry cleaning waiting to go to the dry cleaner’s, the options were looking slim.

Then the closet gods spoke, a light shone down on my favorite pair of jeans, and a chorus of angels sang in my head.  It was just like Touched by an Angel, except for the whole dove thing.  I’m glad there wasn’t a dove in my closet.  In that moment, the prospect of spending $3 to wear jeans to work didn’t seem ridiculous at all.  Happiness for the approximate price of a happy meal is difficult to come by past age six, and even if I don’t intend to make a habit of paying to wear jeans to work, it sure is nice today.  I feel comfortable, relaxed, and 5% sneaky (not sure why the sneaky is in there, it just is).