I Know Irony When I See It

It is casual day at work.

This is a new thing, and has gone over like gangbusters for those keen to show the rest of the office what they wear when they're not being business casual. Naturally, this program was rolled out with all of the expected warnings and threats of retraction should employees "take advantage" - and by "take advantage" they of course mean dressing like a ratty, unshaven college student in tattered jeans, filthy sneakers and paint-splattered t-shirts covered in cat hair. Unfortunately, that is precisely how I roll when I'm not decked out in too-tight khakis, no-press collared shirts and fake leather shoes. I'm 32, and apparently a slob.

Thus, when casual Friday rolls around I actually spend more time picking out my outfit than on the rest of the regular old dress-like-an-automaton weekdays... much more time, like, I almost need to get up early to plan my outfit. Ironing jeans. Tucking in shirts. Trying to match. Fretting over the length of my pantleg, and the not-quite-blinding whiteness of my sneakers, and the colour of my socks. I acknowledge that it's probably not cool for a macho alpha male such as myself to talk about this kind of thing, but it happens. It happened today. Ask Terri.

In the end - I end up wearing my cleanest (relative term) and preppiest GAP-esque outfit (usually from the GAP), and feel much less comfortable and casual than I would on any other given workday. Now having identified and addressed the problem - I shall no longer recognize casual day, for the sake of my sanity, my dignity, and my manhood.

There.