I Wore Pantyhose to a Job Interview and Liked It

I had a job interview today. Another one, I should say, as they seem to be contagious lately. Contagious seems like an appropriate word because most of them have left me feeling quite queasy. Is there a vaccination for workplace bad vibes? First there was a role with a familiar food delivery app in which the conversations weirdly turned into basketball, but not in a good way. Then there was a not-so-familiar daily deal site that courted me simply because my background for seven years had been at an oh-so-familiar daily deal site—but the thought of jumping back into that arena gave me Scanners-esque head spins. So I’ve been holing up in solitary Creativeland as of late, conjuring up brand voices for home organizational products, hanging out with my vintage blouses, and sometimes talking to my cat.

I know, I’d hire me too. Especially, I thought, if I was wearing pantyhose.

The idea started with a dress, really. This dress. When I found all 40" of this silky cobalt blue Nina Piccalino number, my heartbeat faster than a harlequin hussy. It’s all things I love in an 80s career dress—strong, padded shoulder up top, breezy movement on the bottom and a geometric print that makes as big of an entrance as I do. It’s confidence, it’s chic, it’s J.C. Wyatt before she went soft and bought that shitty apple orchard with her baby in Vermont.

I didn’t have this beauty marked for interviewing purposes. I thought maybe I could wear it to dinner at Frank Buresh's Lobster House in Brookfield, but then that place closed like 20 years ago so eating shrimp de jonghe in it was out of the question. Even when I got extended an in-person interview for this latest position, its poly-blue charms weren’t hanging around wooing me in any sort of way. But shortly after, I realized I had been wearing my Working Girl glasses during the initial screening call. I was magnificent, really—loose, jovial, hardly my uptight, stuttery anxious self on the call. Never mind the fact that I was interviewing for a writing position at a company I actually wanted to work at—all the power and confidence lay in these fucking glasses.

Tess McGill Fenske

So, first the glasses, then the world, right? Well, probably best to put some clothes on. At least Husband said so. I originally envisioned my favorite vintage blouse bodysuit coming along for this ride, but I wore it to my previous two job flops and didn’t want to infect the situation with bad blouse vibes (even though it’s incredible, really. But that’s for another day). I found the dress only two weeks early, but semi-forgot about it over the holiday break. But when I opened my closet door to review my options, it came crashing back into my conscious, as if it was dropped right through a glass ceiling. That’s it, I thought. That’s the one. This dress, those glasses—fuck, if I’m taking it this far, I’m owning it all in pure Janet style. The heels, the flecks of gold jewelry and of course, the crown jewel of it all: a perfect pair of pantyhose.

I hadn’t bought pantyhose in at least 9 years. No, maybe 10. I was working as an editor at a commercial real estate publication downtown which required me to attend all sorts of fancy luncheons and consequently required me to say the word luncheon often. This also required me to dress up and eat little sandwiches with big men in business suits and pantyhose were often involved.

Prior to attending one such fancy luncheon, I snagged the top of one leg on a nail beneath my desk and was forced into an emergency pantyhose situation. At the time, the mini mart across the street from the office sold them, but it was if their entire inventory was seized from 1984 (well, you know I dig that). But at the time, it was off. I remember walking in and against the front wall was an entire display of Leggs pantyhose all encased in the Classic Egg Format. Some were shiny silver, some a matte nude color, some a chocolate-tinged taupe. Granted, the scene is odd for any store circa 2008, but to see classic Leggs Eggs lined up between a basket of bananas and the-flasks-of-vodka-section was truly puzzling. But I went along with it and grabbed a pair of black ones. I cracked open the egg, tugged on the ‘hose, and scooted off wearing the appropriate attire for eating bad chopped salad.

Now it was 2017 and I needed pantyhose (again). It was 9 pm, the night before the big interview and I thought CVS would be my best bet. When I finally found them in the back of the store I was disappointed that they weren’t encased in hard, shiny plastic eggs. In my mind, I wanted them to be. Instead, they were housed in little cardboard boxes that looked like teepees, or worse, pointy eggs. They did have softer names though like Silken Mist, which sounds much more seductive and less angular than PANTYHOSE. It’s such an antiseptic and intrusive word really, the kind that causes involuntary scratching of the legs. But I was literally putting all my proverbial eggs in one basket with this one, and PANTYHOSE (not stockings or silk leggings) PANTYHOSE were a major player in the look.

Pantyhose circa 2017

What unfolded next was a perfect storm of fashion. There was the dress, of course, the glasses, the classic gold-plated Seiko watch circa 1981, the matte black leather heels and then the pantyhose—perfectly silky sheer, a distant cry from opaque pairs from days of yore. These sculpted my legs so beautifully I felt guilty calling them pantyhose. They felt and looked far too elegant. Power surged through my veins and pumped to my pumps. I was going to stomp this interview hard.

Getting a Leg Up

I slipped the dress over my head, added the appropriate gold jewelry accents (never too much, just a touch) and slipped on my glasses. BOOM. Maybe it was the strong cut of shoulder that was giving me such confidence, but then again, it felt like a lot of things. I of course was basking in this brand of vintage Power Fashion, but I needed a head check to see if I looked like a bad outtake from Big Business of if I truly looked awesome.

Husband, I said. “Too much?”

He took a moment to take in all the moving parts of the look and exclaimed “You look awesome!!!” I really hate to use exclamation points, let alone three in a row, but this is what the man said before I went off into the world armed with my laptop, my resumes and a soft clarinet solo playing softly in my head. I was right on time.

Seiko Watch

I won’t go into the details of what happened next. Know that I entered the space with confidence, answered their questions thoughtfully, and even provided them with my favorite vintage shop recommendations in Chicago when asked. Sure, I stuttered a few times, but a few times for me these days is better than many. The more confident and comfortable I feel, the less I stumble. It’s a funny thing how pantyhose, something so constricting, can make someone feel so at ease. Oh, and that dress too. That bold, beautiful dress.

(This post was written entirely while I was wearing pantyhose)