Sunday, February 22, 2009

I Am Not My Job

I know I dealt with this like three days ago, but it seriously bothers me. I'm so damned sick of stereotypes surrounding tattoos, especially tattooed women. We're not all sluts. We're not stupid or incapable. We don't all ride motorcycles. Most of all, we're not unemployable.

My job is not my life. It's simply a means to finance living. I'm not going to let a bunch of closed minded bankers dictate who I am. I'm not going to suppress my personality to make them happy. I cover them out of professional courtesy (and practicality. Even in July our office is an icebox). I fail to see how I should take something that's such an insignificant part of my life as an overarching guide. I'm not so stupid or flagrant to get my face tattooed. That's doing it for the sake of pissing someone off, which isn't my goal. I do forget to wear my class ring some days, but really, no one cares about the tattoo on my finger. In fact, most people think it's cute. I think it's a totally irrelevant argument against tattooing.

Maybe some people are their jobs. Maybe some people are fortunate enough to be able to be themselves at work. I'm not one of them. My tattoos make me smile. In an industry that discourages free thinking and creativity, I need all the smiles I can get. Part of me feels like a badass knowing that they have no idea what I really look like. Some have an inkling, but no one knows the full extent of my art. As Kurt said yesterday, there's no real point in hiding who you are to make other people happy. Though it was in the context of weddings, the point still holds true. When I'm on the clock, I'll play by the rules. When it's my time, all bets are off. I was talking to another woman in our office and she said something similar. When she's off the clock, she's a totally different person. At least there's a kindred spirit around.

So I'll keep wearing my suits and pumps, hoping that maybe someday I'll find a job where it doesn't matter or (God forbid) even encourages that sort of thing. Until then, I guess the "real me" will just smirk at those around me.

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