Wearing “business casual” or “biz caz” has the same effect on a person as getting neutered has on a dog. It is as if one lops off their metaphorical testicles everytime one zips up the fly on one’s khakis.
And with those gonads goes one’s passion, laughter, sex drive and general appetite for life. No one has ever pumped their fist in the air and exclaimed “carpe diem” while wearing a Blackberry holster on the braided belt that holds their Dockers high.
In a way we are luckier than the altered canine because our amputation can be undone simply by peeling off our smart but casual clothes at the end of each sedentary day. The pooch can never go back. At the same time, Fido may be the fortunate one as he only suffers the cut of the knife once while we are subjected to it four times a week (jeans Friday!), every week.
But, we wanted this. We fought long and hard to be released from behind the pinstripe prison bars of the business suits. We wore down our older office managers until they finally relented and allowed cotton fabrics to grace the cubicles. After claiming victory in the bloody dress code wars of the 1980s and 1990s, we found ourselves in a new prison, one of our own–and Banana Republic’s–design.