“Why do you need so many clothes for work?” My youngest asked me. I’m not surprised he’s asking. For most of my career as a TV and Radio Anchor/Reporter in the Pacific Northwest a tweed jacket, jeans and boots — with my hair neatly braided back — suited me just fine about 10-and-a-half months out of the year.
And if my work clothes tended to be business-casual, my at-home garb was completely laid-back; consisting of cotton or flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks. It was the uniform of choice for cooking, cleaning and rolling around on the floor with toddler and then grade-school-aged sons after my ‘day job’ at the news station.
SO consistent was I, that when the kids had a half-day at school and I picked them up on my way home from work, they looked at me in my ‘work clothes’ and asked, “Are we going to church?” They had really only seen me in street clothes on Sundays.
Now, however, I work for a major news network as a Manhattan-based radio correspondent. Not only do I have to dress for a variety of seasons — not just for Seattle’s partly sunny and 55-degree weather — I feel the need to look like I belong at the network headquarters and not like someone who snuck into the building. THAT and someone put a camera in the radio control room in order to broadcast our newscasts LIVE on the internet. No more hiding those bad hair days.
I must admit that most days after running around conducting interviews, giving live updates or even just enduring a long commute, I resemble a cat who’s been left out on the porch. I’m pawing at my hair to try and smooth it out while the shiny TV people down the hall look as though the breath of God has dried their hair and shellacked every strand into place.
Their faces are like freshly baked and glazed gingerbread cookies. With big eye lashes.
And their clothes! Neatly ironed, colored-blocked-coordinated outfits of perfection. You never see it on TV but I’m pretty sure Scott Pelley’s socks match.
So now, despite getting up in the middle of the night, commuting and dealing with extreme weather, I ‘effort’ to put on a respectable and fashionable outfit. Put on my make-up and comb my hair. And attempt to comb my hair … again.
But when I get home, I scrub my face, let my hair go curly and put on my PJ’s. Because eventually, the Man-Cave Momma comes home.
This has been an actual conversation in the Man Cave. What’s the Man Cave? Read this.