"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 September 2005

 
Ooh, Heaven is a Place…Called Dillard’s?

For me, being forced to buy a suit for interviews and oral arguments is at the top of the law school trauma-meter. I do not enjoy being told that my daily uniform of jeans, flip-flops, and band t-shirts is unacceptable attire. I also do not enjoy the prospect of speaking publicly under any circumstances. Thus, a suit has always been a physical manifestation of all that I fear and abhor about law school.

That being said, buying my suit was surprisingly painless. My friend (and fashion guru) LaCosta accompanied me to Ann Taylor, where the first suit I tried on was perfect: a navy pinstriped pantsuit. Professional, yet stylish. Practical, yet not frumpy. Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined? Wait, that’s something else...Anyway, needless to say, I was pleased. But the shoes, I knew, would be an issue. That night, my friend Melissa asked me what kind of shoes I would wear with my suit. “I suppose I’ll have to find some navy pumps,” I heard myself say.

“Can I please quote you on that?” she asked in amused disbelief. She too sensed the sheer absurdity of the situation. Pumps, indeed.

Yesterday I drove out to the mall (cringe) to begin my shoe search. There I was, in my favorite jeans and a t-shirt, conspicuously inspecting a table of designer heels. It was painfully obvious that I had no idea what I was doing. I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Even the 4 year-old boy playing dress up in pink stilettos was passing judgment. I picked up a Liz Claiborne shoe that seemed like it could be navy, and eyed it inquisitively.

As I was considering how close the distinction between royal blue and navy could really be, I heard an angelic voice ask, “Sweetie, can I help you with something?”

I turned, and there she was. A petite Asian woman with cute glasses and a bun with a pencil through it. She was looking at me, not reproachfully or condescendingly, but with genuine concern. I said, “See, I have this navy suit—“

“It’s not that color navy, is it honey?” she asked, glancing disapprovingly at the shoe in my hand. “It’s black-navy, isn’t it? Follow me.” And so, as if in a dream, I followed her as she glided between the tables and shelves and led me to a lovely collection of professional shoes, including a beautiful black-navy pair of heels. She saw the joy in my eyes (I had been in the mall a total of 10 minutes at this point—bliss!) and immediately set out to find me a size 7. When I slipped the shoe on my foot, a heavenly choir burst into song.

And so it came to pass that yesterday, in the shoe department of Dillard’s, my guardian angel got her wings. And I bought my first pair of grownup shoes.

posted by Bekah at 12:40 AM :: |