For the past six years, my mentor has been quite forthright with me about the way I dress in professional settings. The problem he had was how I shopped and, essentially, the labels on my purse, watch, shoes, and suit. He wanted me to look older and more mature by being slightly overdressed to show people that I was not only "smart but prosperous."
Conservative by nature, I was taught that clothing wasn't the essence of who I am and I certainly I didn't need to spend thousands of dollars on the biggest brand names to find good friends, business associates, or clients. Furthermore, I am a college educated financial planner who knows that the time value of money is my greatest asset and I should use it while I am young. So logically, I would rather save my money.
However, last year the topic of clothing came to a head following a speech I gave where my mentor said, "Your speech was fantastic, but you look terrible. Angie, you need to understand that you are a young woman in an older, male-dominated industry trying to earn respect for your expertise. Instead, you look like a 20-year-old dumb blonde." Hurt and resentful, I gave in as a little test to this theory. I enlisted my best friend Michelle, who is a successful older professional, to take me shopping. I purchased a brand new, perfectly tailored, three-piece black suit whose brand name I cannot even pronounce, a pair of Manolo Blahnik black pumps, several non-iron Ralph Lauren collared shirts to go under the suit jacket, a pearl necklace and earrings, and a Louis Vuitton purse–all for a price tag close to the amount of my annual Roth contribution! I choked all the way to the cash register, and the only satisfaction I got out of the fiasco was when the associate called the bank to verify that there was indeed enough money available for my check to clear.
This spending spree happened almost one year ago. I have carried that purse, wore those shoes, and I have likely spent more money on the dry cleaning of that black suit than the cost of the suit itself.
