The iPhone 4 Ad We'd Like To See

Apple's been running a series of ads for the iPhone 4 video chat application called Facetime. In the ads several things happen. A young woman worries about her hair. A younger girl frets about her braces. A woman tells her husband they are going to be parents, a man shows his father the new granddaughter. The former executive in my blood boils. Of course wished-for motherhood and new grandchildren are wonderful. Life-affirming. But why do the only other options involve women obsessed and insecure about how we look? I thought the Android phones were supposed to target men. Doesn't that leave iPhones for us? Here's the ad I'd like to see. The proverbial killer app. Roll 'em. The Privilege[d] Apple iPhone 4 Ad

Voice of young woman: Mom? Mom? Voice of older woman: Hi honey. What's up? 

Young woman: Mom, I've got that interview in like four minutes. Please tell me if this looks OK. 

Older woman: Shirt looks good. Is that the one I got you for Christmas? 

Young woman: Yes mom. But what do you think about the pearls. Just right or too much? Older woman: Well, what earrings are you wearing?

Older woman: A little closer. I can't see.

Older woman: Ah. OK. The spikes. The brutal pearls. Hmmmm.

Young woman: I know, they're a little edgy. But I hear this VP likes to push the envelope. 

Older woman: I suppose you've earned the right to a little edge. 

Younger woman: That's what I thought. 

Older woman: *Pauses* You know, honey, you're going to knock their socks off. Don't even think about your clothes right now. Just pitch what you can do for them. Watch their body language. You're good at that. 

Younger woman: I know, I know. Had a little last minute fear. 

Older woman: Just make sure they pay you what you're worth. 

Younger woman: Ha! I'll do my best. 

Older woman: Love you honey. Younger woman: Love you too mom. I'll call when I'm done.

Older woman: Sending luck. Not that you need it. And smooches.

How's that for a little testosterone? Not to mention some subtle and subversive pearls. Dress with dignity at work but never back down. Sideways is fine, on occasion. Happy Monday everyone. 

At "Already Pretty," Subversive Style

Today I am at Already Pretty, explaining my tricks on how to dress with originality even in conservative workplaces. With photos of red shoes and Issey Miyake blouses.

Already Pretty is the brainchild, and heartchild, I'd say if I were Northern Californian (oh wait, I am), of Sally McGraw. It's an oasis of positive body image and very original, exuberant style. She's also one of the more genuine people I have found in the blogosphere and I'm honored that she accepted my idea for this guest post.

I hope to see you there.

All The Working Days Of Navy Blue

I've worn a lot of navy over the years. Especially at work. I'm blonde and blue-eyed so I look best in blues. And pinks, but pink would have been troublesome at work. Although I did wear a killer, blindingly pink, linen blazer during my first pregnancy. But I digress.

Navy. The meaning and story of navy.

I went to business school in the early 1980s, having previously worked for a) Cameron Mackintosh Productions in London b) Circle Repertory Theater in New York c) a consulting company run by a former McKinsey partner who used primal therapy techniques in corporate strategy sessions. This is all true.

Upon graduation, I took a job with Air Products and Chemicals, located in Macungie, Pennsylvania. Outside of Allentown, in case you are not familiar with the booming metropolis of Macungie. There were very few women in the company, excepting secretaries. One might imagine my astonishment at the culture of large corporations, what with the academic family and theater background. It was rather like emerging, blinking, onto an African veldt, following a long Finnish childhood.

We all wore skirted suits to work. I tried to buy one that was navy blue. Fail, as they say. I came home with a grotesquerie in heathered blue. Can we all shout, "Dowdy!" loud and proud? The day I wore that suit with a blue shirt and a red tie was the day I found myself dressed like 3 men in my department, and the day I vowed never to repeat the ensemble. The day Finance sent us a missive jokingly asking why the women in corporate strategy were all so flat-chested was probably the day I decided to get out of headquarters as soon as I could.

I moved from Macungie back to California. Out of corporate strategy and into sales. Where what mattered was results. And I sold well. Largely due to my enormous terror at the prospect of failing. I would come home from a day of cold calls, and lie, stunned, on the sofa, eating M&Ms, hoping to recover. I turned 30 round about the time it dawned on me that while I could sell, I had no hope whatsoever of lasting in the profession. For my 30th birthday I bought myself a dress. A broad-shouldered, wide-belted, 1980's, navy blue shirtdress. I felt so powerful, like I was making a statement about conformity, achievement and self-confidence. I was a child. But a child in a blue dress that was telling me the truth.

I got pregnant. Goodbye wide belt. Nice to have met you. I gave birth to my daughter. I quit work. I gave birth to my son. I stayed home for a few more years. I returned to work, consulting. And suddenly I was in front of groups of adults, telling them what to do.

I bought a navy blue suit, needless to say. Pants, this time. Ever since I had been introduced to the corporate VP as a leading sales rep, only to have him pay more attention to my legs than my handshake, I had worn mostly pants to work. I earned that right. To this day, the suit of my late 30's remains one of my favorite pieces of clothing of all time. Vestimenta, no longer in business. Man's tailoring, but the fabric was a fabulous crepe-ish kind of wool. Draped just so. Worn with a white button-front, and delicate black Ferragamo loafers. I felt impeccable, credentialed. I took a job at Sun Microsystems, where I swam with real corporate sharks for the first time. Rode a private jet to Europe with a mad German entrepreneur. And on to a dot.com when all around were losing their minds and millions of dollars of venture capital. Those were the days.

I spent a non-navy year at the dot.com. If I remember, I wore wide-legged, low-waisted brown corduroys and outre shirts. It's all about context. They made me VP.

In my last job, the one where I had to spend time in New York managing large, argumentative, financial institution accounts, I bought my last navy work outfit. By now the arguers were also women. By now I was 50. By now I knew what I could do well, and where my shortcomings lay. I bought a knit, but structured, Armani jacket, and wide-legged navy blue linen trousers. Fit conservative parameters, just. Some ruffle, some flow. Worn with quilted black Manolo flats. You walk around a lot in New York City.

These days, as I continue my job hunt, I'm still in navy, if we count jeans. Let's count jeans. Looks like I may have the opportunity to work in a startup with a technical colleague. A technical colleague whom I like and respect. At a pace which allows me to keep blogging. We shall see.

Being in one's 50s isn't so bad, if you've managed to pick up enough experience to become useful. I don't know if I've really needed to worry so much about what I wear, but given my upbringing, it was unavoidable. There's no way to predict, at 22, exactly what will happen over the next 30 years. No point at 53, in chastising your younger self for missteps, bad suits, naivete. The only absolute I know is that you have to pay attention. Things reveal their meaning later, and if you haven't paid attention, your chance to understand is lost forever.

*I've told much of this before, here and there, with less detail. Just seemed to warrant a retelling. When you're older, you often appreciate a retell. But twice is enough, I promise.

What We Older Women Hope You Younger Women Wear To Your First Big Job

I am at Corporette today. A topic dear to my heart. The starter wardrobe for corporate jobs.

In which we learn:

a) Your clothing sends signals about who you are. Into very distinct cultures. Which vary from corporation to corporation because CEOs want it that way.
b) Your professional image is your brand, and it’s got to be one you can deliver.
c) The women senior to you are hoping you succeed. Just don't talk about shoes in front of the guys.
d) Shy away from too much fabric, as well as too little.
e) Extra points for knowing that, on TV, we all look best in earth tones.

Corporette is a great site, one I've subscribed to for almost a year. Woven throughout talk about cute shoes, or cowl neck sweaters on sale, is a rational and amused discussion of corporate workplace dynamics for women. What could be better?

Key Pieces For Casual Style, But Comfortable

I have struggled, a tad, with how to look casually presentable. Wasn't previously necessary, given I spent the majority of my time in corporate gear. Last year I asked Corporette how to do casual and remain networking-presentable, in case I was surprised at the supermarket by a venture capitalist. Squeezing avocados, let's say. Corporette, those good souls, answered with remarkable restraint. No audible guffaws. A fitted jacket in a casual fabric, said they. But did I act immediately? Of course not.

I look back now and laugh. Like a horse let out to pasture after her life under saddle, "I don't have to wear corporate executive gear? I will dress like a skateboarder! I will wear sneakers!" While I'm at it, "I will throw all good sense to the wind, all style out the window! In one fell swoop! Satorial hari kari!" Let us be clear. There is nothing immoral about the outfit below. But giving up the attempt to look presentable didn't make me feel liberated and creative. More like a 50-year old woman wearing her son's clothes. Goofy. Fun for a few days but not a good life strategy. Not for me.

Really, What Would Your Mother Say? by High WASP on Polyvore.com

Turns out I am not the only one struggling with casual. Albeit, perhaps, the only one over 50 who actually left the house wearing a Santa Barbara Surf Shop sweatshirt. Recently, a blog commenter in my age cohort asked this question,

...I wonder what you think is appropriate attire for casual wear for a woman of "our age". Thank you so much! I would love to see you do a post on the "mature woman" and her casual wear. How to look great, without trying to look like our daughters!



Well, what does Imogen say? She writes the remarkably useful blog, Inside Out Style. Highly recommended. Good soul that she is, Imogen responded to a similar query on my part just the other week. With remarkably similar advice. "Get thee some decent outerwear!" Oh. OK. Softly structured jackets.

Smarten Up Yoga Wear by imogenl featuring Forever21

This time, I was ready. A Christmas credit at Saks Fifth Avenue? Commence gleeful hand-rubbing. First step? Internet window shopping. I poked, I clicked, I followed. And found myself looking at a James Perse fleece peacoat. Fleece + peacoat = soft + structure. I didn't take calculus in business school for nothing. Saks carries James Perse. Game on.


Push open the heavy glass doors. Employees by the cosmetics counters greet you at the entrance. Without seeming to want to sell you anything. Just a sort of, "Oh, hello honored guest." Nice touch. The smell of department store cosmetics counters in full bloom. The light that special gold fluorescent tint. Time to shop. With a credit, time to shop without fretting.

Up the escalators I went. Up. And up. Past all the Dolce and Gabbana, St. John's, Prada. Today I'm doing casual. And they put casual all the way up in the attic. Heaven forbid you might want to look nice at the grocery store. We know you are all far more interested in what to wear when attending the Golden Globes or crashing a Presidential Dinner.

I wander around a little bit, wondering why the two sales guys laughing about their weekend don't jump to attention, sensing my intent to buy. Who knows. A young woman asks if she can help. Why, yes, you can. She points me in the right direction.



Ha! Bingo! Score!

They don't carry the peacoat I saw on the Internet, but they've got another one. And it's made from SWEATSHIRT fabric! I cannot possibly communicate the enormity of that fact. I love sweatshirts. They are my fuffies. Were I ever to have sucked my thumb in my entire life, it would have been while holding a sweatshirt to my face. To say nothing of their extreme suitability for life lived in California. Which is to say, subject to weather that is sometimes cool, rarely cold. A lot of driving. You know how uncomfortable it is to drive wearing something bulky?



I was so happy I even bought something I didn't need. Just because it was cute. Hip. And on sale for $93.oo. I'm not quite ready to give up on hip. I may be a Sturdy Gal in sweatie but when I want to go Artsy it's urban rather than multi-colored. Largely because I'm simple-minded when it comes to hues. No judgment on pink. Or aubergine. Or Desert Sunset.
I bought this cropped military jacket. A trend that would in otherwise have passed me over like wind in the treetops. But this was made of, yes, SWEATSHIRT fabric. Hosanna in excelsis. To be worn with jeans, a long white t-shirt, and those ever-useful Manolo quilted ballet flats. Don't forget the diamond studs.

Mission more than accomplished. I learned the ins and outs of corporate style a while back. These jackets, as unimportant as they are in the grand scheme of things, make me feel in the grocery store like I did at work. Intelligent, competent, individual. Not bad for two fancy little sweatshirts.

On to tea at Cafe de la Presse. With a friend. Which turned into wine and Salade Nicoise. Sensible cafe, to have a license to serve Sauvignon Blanc. Quite sensible.


Images:
By me, except the cropped Casual Couture by Green Envelope jacket, via StyleCaster. And Imogen's Polyvore.

Goodbye. To The Best Cashmere Sweater I Ever Had.

This is it. No doubt. The best cashmere sweater I ever had. Oh, the navy blue skinny rib turtleneck is nice. The Wilkes Bashford sky blue thick rib turtleneck is pretty, and unique. But this one was my friend.

Worn to the corporate wars for comfort. With a pair of navy blue pleated Armani trousers. Manolo ballet flats. Pearls in the ears and around the neck. Anything from white button downs to small white t-shirts underneath. In this guise, it's pale blue, almost golfish in its conservatism. It's always good to make people think of golf, in corporate life.

Worn on weekends for style. With a pair of flared Seven jeans. And those same flats. I am in the buy-shoes-you-love-and-wear-them-to-death camp. Sweaters too, apparently. In this mode, the pattern feels all Brat Pack, 1950's post-modern, ironic even. A little irony livens up the weekend.


Have taken it to the reweavers. Valiant attempt. One day, the poor little woolen just exploded. Holes in the elbow, under the arms. Cuffs frayed. Stains appeared all at once.

OK. I get it. Into the Goodwill bag. Still a very warm sweater. Still comfortable. Was always comfortable. (Have you ever seen cashmere so thick? Where can I find its mother? Sister? Brother? Was, after all, a men's piece in XS.) Should keep someone cozy in our Northern California version of winter. Besides, if I don't get it out of my drawer, I'm doomed to wear it again some day because it is, Just. Too. Soft.

*This was purchased sometime around the year 2000. Note the Made in China label. We didn't know what we didn't know.

Welcome Guests, Or, How To Host A Work Party

Today I am at The Blushing Hostess, writing about how to host a dinner for your team.
(Your work team, that is, not QBS's rowerboys, or my son's high school soccer team. Sports teams require different dinners. Probably more blushing, less hostess.) To say nothing of two great dipping sauce recipes.

If you've come over from the Hostess, I would like to extend a very warm welcome. I wrote about hosting a workgroup because, while the prospect can be daunting and anxiety-producing, it's also one of the best things you can do as a manager building a team. And, I have found, the occasionally exhausting focus on protocol, common to High WASPs, can be useful in navigating the dynamics of a career. To say nothing of working for some very smart people over the years. That helps too.

When Catherine asked me if I would write a guest post, I didn't think twice about accepting. I was very excited. My favorite part of The Blushing Hostess is the actual menus she posts from historical dinners. Including the last dinner on the Titanic. But I'm also fond of china, silver, giveaways, and personal memoirs about the rebellion of tattoos. Yes. It turns out that one can, in fact, use the words china, memoirs, and tattoos in the same sentence. Who knew?

Please join me there and take a look around. Have a wonderful weekend.

WASP Up Your Work Clothes - On A, Dare I Say, Budget?

One of the wonderful people who read this blog, to whom I am so grateful, wrote me and asked how she could "WASP up" her wardrobe for a new job as a consultant. On a moderate budget. Below is my suggestion for a jeans-friendly office.

WASP Work Clothes On A Budget by High WASP on Polyvore.com

If you needed to up the formality a bit, change the jeans to black wool pants and wear a white, black, or french blue shirt.

The overall principles are as follows:

• Shoes and bag have to be the best you can possibly afford. It is OK if you carry the same bag and wear essentially the same shoes every day, as long as they are good. Good means minimal logo-ing, top quality leather, and clean design. Marc Jacobs, Kate Spade, and Prada all offer these kinds of bags. My reader found the shoes in the Polyvore above herself - not a name brand but a great instance of low heels, black, and a wee hint of fashion in the toe ornament.
• Jewelry should be simple, and look like you inherited it from your grandmother. Or grandfather. Diamond studs, gold posts, pearls, vintage men's watches. Good fakes are OK. 30 years ago that might not have been have been true, but even we can change with the times. Thank you Barbara Bush. And Michelle O.
  
• Clothing should be classic, in the High WASP traditional colors of navy, khaki, black, gray, and white. Not to say you can't wear other colors, but these are absolutely safe. Choose pieces when you can instantly identify their category , i.e. a trench, trousers, t-shirt, vs. asymmetrical jacketish thingie and tunicky shirtish thingie and cropped capriish thingies. Classic clothing items can now be bought at low-cost retailers without sacrificing impact.
  
• Makeup should be simple but present. Skin care is critical - you want to look neat and clean at all times. Hair should be shiny or glossy or braided. Somehow managed but not tormented.

If you are thinking, "This doesn't sound like that much fun!", you are probably right. It's not about fun. It's about looking as though you subscribe to the High WASP Code of Conduct, as though you are serious and to be taken seriously, as though you will follow through on your job responsibilities and probably respect authority as you do so.

If you are thinking, "This would not work in my office!", you are also probably right. This isn't the answer for how to dress at work. It's the answer for how to "WASP up" your work wardrobe. For some lines of work, this is appropriate. Corporate work. Financial work. Work where you have to spend your time with a lot of men. For some lines of work, it's not appropriate. I imagine a graphic designer could only show up dressed like this if she was going for ironic, i.e. "High WASP" (quote unquote), vs. simply High WASP. And she'd probably want to wear mauve Bensimons or something to make the point. But in that world, I'm pretty close to clueless.

Resources, Because We Can't Do It All On Our Own

And finally, some resources. Please chime in if you know of others, these are in no way exhaustive.

Let me say first that I have always had the High WASP suspicion of following one's bliss. Bliss is a rather untrammeled emotion. We don't feel comfortable in the world of untrammeled anything.

Another problem is that my bliss might lead me to try to get paid for sitting on the sofa, looking out the window. Or, as an alternative, lying on the sofa reading Us Weekly.

People will only pay you for what you do. Not for what you hope or dream. And people will only pay you for doing something they think has value. So if my bliss involves grandiose schemes and there be dragons maps of faraway places, I might hesitate. But if my bliss is a little friend, perhaps with fur, that shows up, takes my hand and says, "Just take the first step," well, that bliss I might follow.

In any case, it was a wise man who first said those words. To read more of Joseph Campbell's thoughts, you can start here.

Smith Barney famously said, "We make money the old-fashioned way. We earn it." If that inspires you, and doesn't make you want to hide under the kitchen counter deviled by feelings of inadequacy, look here.

For contrarian, cantankerous, brilliant writing about how to have an audacious career, (and life for that matter,) read Penelope Trunk. Her most recent post is on why she loves Kate Gosselin.

For what to wear to work and always feel confident, read Corporette.

For how to approach the topic of self-development, which may turn out to be necessary once you have figured out what you want, you can read communicatrix, The Happiness Project, or RealDelia. Even High WASPs have come to understand that humans have feelings, and that a stiff upper lip, or even a stiff gin and tonic, won't necessarily put everything to rest.

You can read a quote from The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work at even*cleveland, or EmilyStyle's excitement at her new career direction here.

If you are actually interested in my field of work, you have to read The Cranky Product Manager. Title says it all.

Or you can say never mind and instead pick up the phone and call someone you know. Who might know someone who knows someone who knows someone. And that someone will want to help you because, here's the thing, it makes them feel valuable and good at what they do.

My final piece of advice from the ripe old age of 52? Going on 53? Press Talk. Or Send. Or even Submit.

Now let's go find some more fun khaki.

Career Risk Changes With The Decade

Over the last two weeks I have been writing about my thoughts on how to address your career. You know what? It's exhausting. You can't Polyvore career advice, or Flickr it, or quip it. It's a huge topic, and in order to do any justice whatsoever, there's a bare minimum that has to be said. Plus I have to muster my declining testosterone and get all square-jawed. Phew.

But I'm almost done. At least for this go-round. There's one more really important idea.

Your risk profile changes over time. Getting off the sofa, literally or metaphorically, has a different impact at each decade of your life. Being 20 is not the same as being 30 which is not the same as being 40 which is not the same as being 50.

Risk is cheap when you are in your 20’s. It may not feel that way, my saying so may not lessen the usual panic, but I can promise you from the vantage point of 52 it’s true. Risk is still manageable in your 30’s, although less so. It gets much more expensive in your 40’s, especially if along the way you have decided to have children. At 50, it appears that in fact risk gets cheaper again. Probably because said children are usually on their way to their 20’s.

So. Here's a little cheat sheet on why we might do work stuff in each decade. Leaves out the blood and sweat and tears and joy but we are all struggling with information overload these days. So.

• In your 20’s you are doing stuff to learn. It doesn’t matter too much what, as long as you do it with your eyes open.
• In your 30’s you are doing stuff because this might be it (whatever it is). If it isn't it, notice that fact.
  
• In your 40’s you are doing stuff because you are really good at it (whatever it is). If you aren't good at it, you could probably do better.
  
• In your 50’s you are doing stuff because you have something to offer. Yes. In your 50's if it's been all about you up until now, that will change.
  

And as yet I don’t know why I will be doing stuff in my 60’s. With any luck because I like the way it feels. But probably in order to have enough money to retire on without worry when I hit 70.

And of course, if you didn’t get around to the tasks of your 20’s when you were actually 20, have at it later in life. After all, as they say, 30 is the new 20. I think if you push it 40 can be the new 20. But 50, mmmm, not so much. Still, that gives us a lot of time. Happy Monday everyone.

Risk And What To Do About It

You may not like your career, now, or as you look into the future. If this is where you find yourself, you have two reasonable options, in my opinion. First, increase the amount of risk you are willing to tolerate and act accordingly. Adventure out onto the high seas. I have to tell you though, this is terribly difficult. This is to be or not to be, and screwing your courage to the sticking place, and once more into the breech dear friends. This is what the self-help people make a lot of money on. How gurus make their name. Why patients spend years with psychoanalysts. And at the end of the day tolerance for risk and stress may just be something built into your soul and not worth battling.

Your second option is to reduce the risk of finding a satisfactory career. In a systematic manner. Reduce the risk of failing at what you want to do. Reduce the risk of succeeding at what you don’t want to do, which can be almost as bad.

In some industries, where job requirements are known and rewards are high there is an ENORMOUS infrastructure built up to reduce risk, to winnow out those who can’t do the job. Law school eliminates those who can’t handle the workload of a law firm. Venture capitalists screen startup management teams. There are other such systems. Think hip hop producers. College and high school basketball scouts. American Idol.

For the rest of us, aiming for a career less visible or more spontaneous, we have only one option. We have to find stuff out. Get information. There is no other answer that I know. Not even the California summer. We have to find out what the jobs we think we want feel like day to day and what it takes to succeed. Then compare what you have found out to who you know yourself to be. That’s all I mean by, “Stories stories stories. Stories stories.” You are your very own American Idol. You have to assess, can I do it? And as important, will I like it? You cannot do that without knowledge. There’s enough risk in the world without adding your own by operating in ignorance. Even innocent ignorance. This isn’t news. I say this remembering the fear I felt at 23 about what I didn’t know. I wish I had known it was normal, not a flaw, not a weakness. Wouldn’t have made me unafraid, but would have made my feelings about my fear less powerful. Which is the equivalent of bravery.

So. How to find stuff out? Not complicated. Not always easy.

Mostly you have to get off the sofa. You can do some research in the virtual world and by all means should. But the majority of what you want to know you will learn from other people. Whom you will need to sit opposite and talk to. Of course the best thing is to simply find a job and try it. But the next best way is to talk to people who have the job already. Reaching out can be scary. I remember when I wanted to work in the New York theater management world I sent out 17 blind letters to producers and theaters. 17. Then I called every contact and asked if I could have an interview. I was terrified. But I was more terrified of sitting on the sofa. Oh, and I got a job. At the end of the day bravery is a series of pretty mundane actions. Actions and some of your time. Which if you don’t decide how to use will just pass from your hands like dried grasses at the end of a harvest. Rise up like gnats and move off in a cloud without direction.

None of this is brilliant. It is only naming what we already know and might be embarrassed to acknowledge. Or what we have been shamed into believing is our own lack rather than a universal response. By the time you hit 50 you may say to yourself, with a that tone we reserve for finally getting it, "Oh, wait, I see. Why did I worry so? What did I think was at stake?" If you haven't hit 50, here's a voice from your possible future. It's a friendly voice. It might even ask you if you'd like a cup of tea.

Telling Stories

OK. So never mind software. Or User-Centered Development. I use software development as a reference because it’s my domain, my particular expertise. The method, however, works more universally. I know from hindsight. From what I didn’t know I wanted. From what I didn’t know I was good at. From what I didn’t know I couldn’t bear to do at all. I can tell these stories now that I am sitting on my sofa, at 52. I didn’t tell myself these stories when I was in my 20’s and 30’s because the stories of I want to have babies and the stories of I want approval and the stories of I am afraid to be turned down from what I really want were telling themselves too loudly in the back of my mind.

It turned out OK anyway. I'm not complaining. High WASPs really hate complaining unless they are as good at it as Oscar Wilde and Dorothy Parker. I am just giving you the benefit of what I know here on my sofa, since had I known it in my 20’s I imagine my path might have taken me further in a direction somewhat more native to my self. A luxury, but hey, I'm all about luxury. So.

Write stories about yourself. The tasks you like. The environment you are comfortable in. Write them in detail about specific tasks you enjoy. Write several. For example. “I wake up early in the morning, sit quietly at the kitchen counter reading the financial news and drinking tea. I think it’s fun to pay my bills – I can figure my weekly budget without using a calculator. I love this time alone, no one telling me what to do, my schedule is my own.”

If you are this woman you are great at numbers but I don’t think you would be happy at an investment bank. You might be good as Director of Finance at a start-up however.

Write more than one story. Write lots of task stories, about all aspects of your life. If you don’t like to write, tell stories to a friend, “I go to a party and find myself in the family room with 6-7 kids, reading stories. I listen to the sounds of the party goers and am glad to drop the burden of adult conversation. I have read these books 25 times before but I still enjoy them because it’s new every time a different kid hears the story for the first time.” Um, way big clue.

You also have to write or tell your goals. The goals you have for what your job brings you. Not the rewards of liking what you do, the task and life stories will make that clear. I mean the rewards you get on top of liking your work. Or, in many cases, instead of liking your work. Let’s be honest. The salary, the prestige, the identity. You have to be honest and comprehensive in this part of the process, just like you have to be accurate and detailed in the life stories part of the process. You can say that you just want meaningful work that benefits society but if you feel a bitter burn in your gut every time someone in a BMW drives by then you have lied to yourself. And you can say you want fame but if you cannot stand constant scrutiny you are setting yourself up for distress. And if you say you don’t care about achievement, or recognition, when really you are afraid to admit your desires because you fear failure, again, future distress is pretty much guaranteed.

All these many words are based on the assumption that what we want is some kind of peace, some kind of resting shape, to our work lives. Even if it’s a really busy peace. That we don't want to live our lives with a constant, restless, dissatisfaction. That we don't want an ongoing lifelong internal dialogue of shame, humiliation, anxiety and resentment because that above all sucks the soul out of you. That we want life to align and provide the opportunity for moments of sheer joy at doing some things well that reward us as we want to be rewarded. Or close enough. I never did believe the flyers that say "Make $100,000 in one month at your kitchen counter!" I have spent a lot of time at my kitchen counter on the telephone and no one ever walked up to me and gave me $100,000.

Let me be clear. Looking at what you want and what you are capable of you may realize that you aren’t going to be able to get everything on your list out of a career. The sheer joy of doing something well that you love may not happen in your formal job. But if you disaggregate your conceptual “Career," you can find other sources for what your actual career isn’t going to dish out. To my way of thinking that’s a reasonable outcome, as long as you can come to terms with it, but you won't know unless you tell the stories.

And no, I’m not done yet.

What Color Shoes To Wear With Navy Blue?

You have a lot of choices for shoe color for navy blue clothing. Here are some pictures of a few options. Because, despite all the terribly serious talk about careers and lifelong satisfaction, the momentary glee of a good pair of shoes, matched perfectly for your circumstances with whatever you are wearing, cannot be discounted.

And why wear navy? Well, navy is the High WASP color of choice, right? Do you need proof? There's no question that it's the best suit color for women. As well as the perfect dinner party dress color. And, finally, the defining characteristic of the most beautiful, classic outfit to hit the runways in a while.

What Color Shoes To Wear With Navy? by High WASP featuring Converse shoes

The Back Story

Theories and constructs and analysis get you only so far in life. Other people's mistakes are much better learning opportunities. Here’s how I did exactly what I just said not to do.

When I got out of college I said to myself, “I know! I like theater, and I like to be in charge of things. I will go into theater management.” Nice try. Except the part of theater I liked was being on stage in front of many people. And the part of being in charge I liked was having everyone listen to me. And in theater management, real, marbles on the floor, theater management, you don’t get to act and nobody really listens to you. They listen to the talent. Which is as it should be. I made the mistake of taking the two blue velvet bags of “Theater” and “Management” and trying to put them together. Which landed me answering telephones, word processing (that’s what we called it in those days), and helping people who were to become movie stars learn their lines for Hamlet. Not quite what I had in mind.

Before I went to graduate school, I told myself, “I know! I like to write, and I am interested in business. I will go get a joint degree in journalism and business!” I applied to Northwestern and to Columbia, both of which had joint degrees, and flew off to India where I wandered around for 3 months writing my first newspaper article ever. When I returned, I had been accepted to Northwestern for both programs and to Columbia for an MBA. Rejected from Columbia’s journalism school. Unsurprisingly. It was the best program in the country at the time and I had never done a lick of journalistic anything in my life. I didn’t want to leave New York. So I went to business school. I was 25. I figured it would be a fun adventure. Little did I know.

At 52 I now understand that business journalism would have been the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I like to write, sure, but the part of business that interests me is the strategy, the structure of industries, or else the juicy gossip about who is a real jerk. Not what many business journalists get to write about. Business journalists mostly get to write about numbers. Numbers scare me. When business journalists write about people they have to be nice or public relations agents come and kill them.

Again, I took two bags of marbles, cats-eye, steel, speckled, and tried to make one big bag. When really what I wanted was just the speckled ones. I failed to disaggregate. I should either have gone back to business school for a Ph.D. so I could give endless lectures on strategy and industry structure, or I should have become a gossip writer. As I said, little did I know.

And no, I'm not done yet.

Fierce at 50, Or, User-Centered Development

What job? What career? I am not an expert. But I have had some great jobs, some truly horrific ones, and am now in a position to sit on my sofa and think. To ask myself, what could I have done differently in my 20’s and 30’s so that at 50 my career would be better than it is? Better for me that is. Me as I am.

It’s an enormous question.

The only way I can address enormous questions is to break them into pieces and go after each piece separately. Take the blue velvet bag of marbles labeled “Career”, throw all the marbles on the floor, and step back. Look at the patterns. The marbles are separate, the glass ones, the metal ones, the cat’s eyes, the blue ones, the rainbows. Then you lay the marbles out again. According to the patterns. Disaggregate. Refactor. Break down. Rebuild. Take that amorphous concept called "Career" and break it into the smallest possible meaningful ideas.

Don’t worry, I have a somewhat less abstract way to explain what I mean. Comes from software design. "Quelle surprise," as my mother would say. There’s a practice known as User-Centered Development. The theory is that if you want to design good business software, although it’s important to outline the General Manager’s goals, i.e. how much revenue she wants to bring in and what sort of costs she wants to reduce, most importantly you have to tell the story of the User and what task she is automating with the software. You have to break the User’s tasks down into her actual movements, thoughts, and needs. Throw those marbles right down on the floor.

For software, here’s a pretend example of a User Story to build call center software (real ones are much more detailed), “The User sits at her desk in a large room with 25 other customer service agents. She is drinking coffee and talking to her friend at the next desk. A call is forwarded to her from the central exchange. When she answers the phone the customers ask her questions such as, “How much is my bill…when did I pay last…can you apply my credit card to this bill…do you have my credit card number on file?” This story is very different than design begun by saying, “We need a drop down menu on the right hand side and then when you mouse over a button it turns yellow and the headers are all blue.” And of course even in User-Centered Development you need to define the General Manager’s goals very precisely, ROI, new customers accrued, market share, clicks, eyeballs, upticks, down dogs. Well no, but you get my drift. After all, it's the GM who pays the bills.

The problem in designing good software is that frequently the goals of the User and the General Manager conflict. The User would like to be sitting on a sofa, with a laptop, drinking coffee and talking to her friends. She wants to spend time with each customer because she actually thinks her job is customer service. As in providing service to the customer. The General Manager would like the User to be isolated in a virtual cubicle, or at least with headset on, taking call after call after call. Because the GM thinks the job is reducing cost of product support. But you won’t know if these goals conflict, if the tasks are not aligned, until you tell the stories. People like to live a large portion of their lives, particularly while working, in denial. They like to say what they want to be true, rather than what is true.

In terms of your career, you are both the User, and the General Manager. Your goals, too, will most likely conflict. You too will try to find a job by specifying that it be blue and has a drop down window in the corner and turns yellow when you mouse over it. And your User may rebel. They do, you know, generally in a quiet but devastating manner. Or your General Manager may want to fire everyone. Except you are everyone. You can train yourself. You can manage yourself. But it’s pretty hard to fire yourself.

And no, I’m not finished yet.

Fierce At 50, Or, Having A Good Job Helps

I’ve spent a fair amount of time recently with young people about to take their first steps in the world. Otherwise known as 1100 new Princeton graduates sitting in chairs on a lawn in the sun. To say nothing of my daughter on the other side of the country getting ready to go to her new job. I’ve also recently had a reader do me the honor of asking if I had any advice on careers, as in, how to have one.

All of which has gotten me to thinking.

I do not believe there is any way around the reality that in order to be fierce at 50 you have to find a career that works. But once you figure out what clothes to wear, (nudge nudge wink wink), what else has to happen in order to have the kind of job which generates fierceness vs. draining it right out of your body? (As an aside I will point out right away that full-time homemaking is a career. Just not one that I know much about.)

Me, I’ve been alive for a while and I have had a lot of jobs. The ones that made me happy included; assistant to at a summer art class for 10-year olds (time spent making pretty things and when not making pretty things spent outside in the California summer), senior product manager at Sun Microsystems (working cooperatively and creatively with teams of terrifyingly smart people who thought I was wonderful), and VP of Product at a dot.com (leading teams of terrifyingly smart people who thought I was wonderful). The jobs that drained every ounce of my soul included; selling $1M/month contracts for industrial gases, (sitting in a car listening to Bruce Springsteen and Tom Petty trying to make myself cold call on yet another man who touched valves and pipes for a living), group marketing manager for a wunderkind (took me through Europe in a private jet and made me leave my children behind for two weeks), and VP of Product Management for a software company (had to lay off 25 people including one man who was at his wife's bedside in the hospital and had a very smart subordinate who was good enough at trying to take my job that he made me miserable but not good enough to ever actually get me released from that employment).

So how then could I have known in advance which were the soul-suckers? Most of them were in high tech, right? How to know which jobs would make me get up early and walk happily to the train station? Which jobs would bring me home at night stunned, unable to speak, looking forward only to too many glasses of wine?

Well there’s the question. I’m getting to it. But this is somewhat tougher than what shoes. As you might imagine.

The Unbearable Lightness Of The First Job

My daughter starts her job in a week and a half. As I have said before, it’s a real job. A talent development program, with health insurance. A great first step towards figuring out what role work will play in her life. Pays enough that she can live on her own. A very significant event, both as recognition of her accomplishments to date and as a platform for the future.

So needless to say I took her shoe shopping.

We went to a Marshall’s Megashoe something or other. This is not my territory. I usually buy Ferragamos or Stuart Weitzman from Nordstrom or even Neiman Marcus. I tell everyone that it’s because they are the only shoes that fit me, but probably those years of my mother taking us to Saks and having Mrs. Bailey find us clothes have left me psychologically damaged for the world of bargain shopping. Luckily my daughter has no such scars.

We got her a pair of black chunky-heeled open-toed slingbacks, a pair of tan and black delicate-heeled closed-toe slingbacks, and a pair of orange flats. Kind of like these. But way cheaper.

When I first started working I had no one to help me at all. No one in my family would have had any idea what shoes I needed to wear at work, much less how to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, or what career I was temperamentally suited to. After all, High WASPs aren’t supposed to have jobs, per se. We might have a profession, but we wouldn’t call it a job. I’m not complaining. After all I had my inheritance. Reasonable tradeoff.

Except of course that I turned out to need the money.

So I made my own way. Another story. What strikes me as funny now is that at 26, in my first summer MBA job, I worried most about what to wear. And what to do about my hair. I still remember my greige silk skirted suit and dark blouse with self-tie. I struggled with a curling iron, trying to give myself the hair I thought a proper MBA-possessor ought to have, thinking that if I could only get the look right, everything else would follow. Quite silly, really. Since in that first job the regional sales office politics were so severe I was nothing but shark bait. Throw me in the water, make me bleed, see who surfaces, shoot the ones with large teeth. If I died in the process, who cared? I was chum (obscure word of the day), albeit chum with well-curled hair.

But I survived that summer. And did eventually figure out the process for how to get the right look. Like this. Start by wearing the ultimate neutrals. Keep your head down, watch the natives, evolve into the shared culture of your work environment. Works every time and it’s worth it. For a woman at work the more anxiety you can eliminate about “Do I look OK?” the more energy you will have to fight the larger wars of petulant customers, dumb managers, and conniving subordinates. Oh, and I eventually figured out what to do when you are supposed to be shark bait. But that’s another story.

So I took my daughter shoe-shopping. Then we got manicures and pedicures. What color? Pale pink. There is so much advice to be given that sometimes it’s best to start with the manageable.

Images.
Black sandals: Aerosoles
Orange flats: Michael Kors via Shoes.com
Spectators: Magdesians via Zappos
Nail polish: Essie Mademoiselle via Nordstrom

Advanced shoe deconstruction.
Open toes? Orange? How are these neutrals? The answer is that when you are young a little lightheartedness in shoes is actually better than showing up all-Ferragmo'ed out. As long as you keep the associated clothing very conservative you will look respectful but like you know your position. Except maybe in law. Or finance. Not my field, either of them.

What Am I Reading? Politics and Work Stuff. Oh Yes. Weddings.

The last few categories in my Reader are Politics, The Web, and Weddings. You can see, by peering, that there are very few Politics or Web blogs. I was reading Tales From The Recently Laid-Off, since I was, I think, but then the author got a job. Hmmm. I was reading Wonkette, but I couldn't stand the yelling. I find most political discussions on the web to be like lying as a small child listening to my parents fighting downstairs. And I didn't like that the first time around.

The Web category? Well, that's my work. My current, or recently misplaced work. In my life I have worked as an office manager for a British theatrical producer, in funding for Off-Broadway theater, for a former McKinsey consultant in a firm that was half strategy consulting and half Primal Scream workshops, as a freelance writer traveling in India, as a newly-minted MBA in corporate strategy (can you tell I decided to get a grownup job around then?), as a salesperson of liquid nitrogen, oxygen, and argon, and then as a self-employed consultant. But for the past 12 years I have been in high-tech, working mostly as a product manager, manager of product managers, or VP of Product Management. I ought to stay current. But truth be told, to put myself in work mode I have to crank up the testosterone levels beyond acceptable levels for someone trying to reacquaint myself with the sofa. I read the Cranky Product Manager and make crabby comments on the posts. I read Mashable so I can feel that some day I might actually go back to work.

And then weddings. I love weddings. But I have already talked weddings. So for the next few days I will just change my blogroll to include every wedding blog I read and nothing else. There might be a few gems in there. As always, A Practical Wedding. And try DJ and the Remix. Or maybe 100 Layer Cake.

And there you have it. My Reader. On Friday, April 3rd, 2009.

Job Misplacement = Anxiety

When I first misplaced my job, I was secretly thrilled. At least during those moments when I could put aside the fear of dying homeless in my later years and sleeping under a freeway. I was thrilled because I so looked forward to sitting on my sofa for long, undisturbed stretches of time.

But now that I am actually here there is a small problem.

I might become part of the sofa. I might one day be unable to get up. Being unemployed means no structure to the day. No structure means stretching into endlessness. Unfortunately, this makes me feel like I might be dying. Now I am not in any kind of clinical state, so I don’t actually THINK I am dying. But a nameless dread starts to fill my being. I might just sit here on the sofa forever.

As a result, I am inventing myself the job of being unemployed. As in, sophisticated decision-making processes around how many pieces of toast to have. As in, deadlines for when I will exercise, when I will pay my bills. Arbitrary schedules for random but required tasks.

Not Working

I, like 2.6 million other people in 2008, and more in 2009, have recently lost my job. Well, technically, it isn’t lost. More like misplaced. Like they are saying to me, “Wait, I know it’s here, in this closet. Just hold on. It should be here, I know it’s here. Hmm, not in the closet. It must be here, in the drawer under the toaster. Hold on, I know it’s here. No, that’s the cable TV receipt. No, that’s the manual for the garage door opener. Hmm. Now where did I put that job?”

So far I am rather enjoying looking out the window.