Fitting In

When my company was bought out by another company, a reorganization followed resulting in my boss (a male) reporting directly to a female about 20 years his junior.

It was no big surprise since my company was “old school” with very few females in charge, whereas the new company was more progressive with many females in charge in various departments.

One month in, there was a lay-off. My boss was let go. A male and a female co-worker in my department were also let go. Another reorganization followed and my new boss was now a female about 20 years my junior. Also they hired back the female co-worker who was let go, but none of the males were rehired.

My profession was a male bastion for ages. Now my department was run by a female and most of my co-workers were female.

When my profession was a male stronghold, the females in my profession tried to fit into the “old boy’s club.” In most cases, they wore little or no makeup, their hair was in a short style and they wore tops and slacks – never a skirt or dress. Their only feminine accoutrements were a purse and maybe some stud earrings.

As my profession became a female stronghold, the old boys were gone with the wind and the women were empowered to dress anyway they pleased. Skirts, dresses, slacks, heels, flats, whatever they felt comfortable wearing.

I thought about trying to fit in with my female co-workers and my female superiors were on board. But then I received an offer to retire that I could not refuse.

Who knows if I would have gone to work en femme in order to fit in if I had not retired? I’d like to think that I would have, but I’ll never know.

Anyway, a week after my last day at work, my female superiors (my supervisor and manager) took me out to dinner to celebrate my retirement. I was the first to arrive at the restaurant and was seated at our reserved table in the bar. I ordered a drink and waited for the girls to arrive. 

About 15 minutes later, I saw them enter at the opposite end of the bar and I could see that they were looking around the room trying to find me. As they got closer, I waved and caught their attention. 

When they recognized who was waving, they both squealed with delight and were happy to see me presenting as a woman. They both complimented my presentation and admitted that if I had not waved, they would never had found me.

I guess I fit in, better later than never.

Wearing St. John

Italian girls femulating in Genoa, circa 1960.