A memory comes back to me of standing at a bus stop. It’s a cold, breezy English summer day, I am fifteen and a half, 5’ 6 and already a blossoming 36C. I am wearing a gingham dress and ankle socks (yes, ankle socks, they were summer regulation).
I must have looked ridiculous. I know I felt it. Getting into the sixth form gave me the dubious honour of being allowed socks to the knee, although somehow mine always ended up round my ankles anyway. Winter allowed us thick brown tights and the ubiquitous tie. Why did I have to wear a tie? Was it just so that I could put my shield shaped “PREFECT” badge on it? I always envied my friend Heather, far more a rebel than I dared to be, who for all her misdemeanours would never be given school responsibilities, but had fashioned her own imitation badge which said, “PERFECT” instead.
Uniforms you either love them or hate them. I hated mine.
So I was delighted to see that a new research shows that in the UK, that bastion of rolled brollies and bowlers, nine out of ten companies are now adopting a “no tie” policy during the recent hot weather and encouraging “dress down Fridays”.
One of the arguments for suits and ties is that apart from conveying a business like attitude, power and efficiency, they do hark back to the days of school uniforms. They get you into the “mind set” to work hard, conform and make clear a division between play time and graft time.
The interesting research now emerging is that, in fact, it is the opposite. That if workers are allowed to wear the clothes they feel comfortable in, they are more productive. Maybe, it’s all to do with perspective. When Richard Branson first donned his “I’m one of you” woolly jumpers, his friendly un-hierarchical mode of management was seen as revolutionary. Now as companies move away from hierarchy to “organic” management we should expect to see more casual clothes, less distinction between home life and work life, inspiring more creativity.
Of course, there’s a class issue too. As high paid journalists, advertising agency staff or architects can wear chinos and trainers, those on the factory floor are still expected to be in their regulation overalls. When you’re packaging frozen chickens, creativity is the last thing management want to inspire London bus drivers have recently threatened to strike in the roaring temperatures if they are not allowed to wear shorts. As white-collar becomes collarless, blue collar still has to battle on.
Which brings me to the strange case of one Nicosia bar in the old town, Plato’s. Fashioned on a traditional pub it has now taken a “shortist” policy. The temperature might be 40 degrees outside, and my companions, professional men in their 30s, were both far from short and over six feet, but nevertheless they were told they could not be served a drink. Now we aren’t talking little itsy-bitsy polka dotted shorts, we’re talking rugged mens’ khaki numbers: the type that that bloke who fights with crocs on Australian TV wears. In fact, not unlike the ones that David Cameron sported the other day to the House of Commons. Meanwhile, girls are getting served wearing skirts no bigger than curtain pelmets and tops like hankies tied to their fronts by string. Where is the justice? I can only imagine the policy at Plato’s is aimed at keeping tourists out, a type of protectionism.
Well, eventually one of my friends was told he would get a drink, as long as his shorts covered his knees. No problem, he pulled them down to hide the offending part of his body, far more revealing at the top, of course, but rules are rules. Ah, it was all so reminiscent of the day my friend Heather was told her gymslip had to be no more than an inch above her knee. Fine. She wrote “My knee” half way up her thighs and flounced into school. She was suspended, of course, just as we were asked to leave Plato’s, but the victory was hers.
