The Law of Practicality

When you work with computers (or mathematics, or any other logic-dominated thing) there’s a sense that the whole world can be reduced to a few sets of rules and principles. Clothing isn’t exempt. “I wear cargo pants to carry my stuff. I wear a hoodie because it’s clean and warm. I wear sneakers to carry my body around.” The Standard Rationalist uniform.

The Law of Practicality governs technologists’ wardrobes, more interested in climbing through wiring closets and staying warm than in impressing others. It’s the essence of the Steve Jobs turtleneck. It’s an impressive commitment to rationality and functionality that permeates the field.

We’ve been making fun of technologists’ “professional” outfits for a long time - only last week I saw jokes about the tech uniform in a Slack channel. Another channel was advocating that if comfy shirts and jeans worked for men, they were fine for women too. Pure, pragmatic rebellion.

Despite the freedom to wear non-traditional clothing to the office, I have seen very few people step outside of the shirts-shorts-sneakers style. Amidst so many unconventional individuals, I still feel especially strange as a gothic gal.

I’ve met one other tech-person with a facial piercing. I’ve met one stylish man with a brilliant black coat and functional gas mask. I have recently joined forces with other velvet jacket wearers. These folks are few and far between, and I can be quoted saying that we need more goths in tech.

Delectably Impractical

I feel out of place because I am a die-hard impracticalist when it comes to fashion. I love looking through Vogue for the latest piece of couture, completely unwearable on the metro trains I inhabit. I love hunting through op shops for shoulder-padded frilly things.

This week, I tuned into a Mina Le video essay about impractical shoes. She explores shoes across cultures and historic periods, considering beautiful beading, platforms which require assistance to walk in, and the materials used to construct these art pieces. Go watch it, it’s fascinating - and it’s what prompted this blog post.

I have a personal history with impractical clothes, owning a pair of platform boots before I was 10.

Throughout highschool I insisted on wearing a top hat everywhere. I made a spare one out of determination, school worksheets, duct tape, and a reel of shark patterned fabric, lovingly coveted in a sewing class. My later school years were punctuated by frequent corset appearances, worn from dawn to dusk.

My wardrobe has only spiraled from there. My favorite coats are decked out with lace and pirate sleeves. My favorite shirts are ruffled and strange. I shop Halloween sales for regular wardrobe items.

I proudly recall wearing my “standard” winter coat to work one day, and a colleague remarking - “wow - there’s a lot going on there.”

Spooking the Squares

There’s an identity crisis attached to being impractical in a logic-governed world.

Before university, I had accepted that I was a tortured creative soul, writing poetry and making art of horrible things. I was interested in Renaissance history, Mark Rothko and Bright Eyes lyrics. I submitted assignments by typewriter.

At university, my philosophy classes were opportunities to push the absurdity of my last outfit one step further. Those classes were full of other impracticalists… but my math classes made me shy.

I tried to convince myself pure math was all about eccentric creatives too. I wrote essays about beauty in mathematics and mathematics in poetry. I was desperate to find the incoherent and chaotic creatives in these caves of clarity.

In my last 2 years of university, I started wearing extremely girly outfits to my math classes, rebelling against the utilitarian look surrounding me. It helped me cope with imposter syndrome - people weren’t avoiding me because I was stupid, but because all the boys were scared of my hot pink boots. I ran experiments with myself, showing up to one class overdressed and the other in the Standard Rationalist, noting I made friends faster when I was less feminine.

By the time I finished university I had only become more defiantly strange. I started working in tech.

The Mosquito People

I recall having a conversation with a coworker about “professional” clothing. He surmised that that we work with eccentrics (AKA researchers), thus looking eccentric is a good way to break the ice. Being weird on the outside was a good signal for people who were weird on the inside. I didn’t quite believe him following my university experience. It was one thing to wear a dorky chemistry shirt and quite another to come to work as a pirate.

But he was right.

Shortly after this chat, I finished reading Dracula. As a reward, I bought myself a shirt emblazoned with “DRINK MORE BLOOD”. I saw no reason to not wear it to work. On one occassion while wearing this provocative shirt, I found a colleague in the foyer chatting to some researchers. They cracked up laughing.

“We let mosquitoes bite us as part of our research. Drink more blood!!!”

I’d never been so proud to be so strange. They were excited to be strange with me. I learned a lot about the process of mosquito research and got myself an invite to the lab, should I ever be interested.

Carrying the torch

So while I still feel “out-of-place” in my excessive outfits, I relish working where The Law of Practical fashion reigns. Where else could I wear a sequin tailcoat or cat ears without any kerfuffle? And what on this earth could be better than the freedom to be bizarre and meet a tank full of mosquitos? Good luck answering that one, dear reader.