I realize I’m such a privileged white lady asshole, co-opting first a veteran’s rallying cry and then a Beyonce anthem about slavery and its consequences to talk about fashion, and like, my career and stuff. But ever since I decided to get a real job, right after I got my $8,000 self-employed tax bill, I’ve had that song stuck in my head…
“Freedom! Freedom! I can’t move. Freedom, cut me loose. Singing freedom! Freedom! Where are you? Cause I need freedom too. I break chains all by myself. Won’t let my freedom rot in hell. I’ma keep running cause a winner don’t quit on themselves.”
A real job. Talk about sweet, sweet lemonade after lemons upon lemons for years upon years. People talk about freedom. But freedom isn’t free. You have to fight for it every single fucking day. And that version of freedom became a tiny little island of hell, for me alone, because I was always afraid and overwhelmed. And always somehow failing in some baffling business-y way. And surviving by the skin of my teeth.
I wore this to my first day of work today. It was a good day. (Now co-opting Ice Cube.)
Per Se bronze silk dress, $8, Gold Mine (Sun Valley) thrift store (The HR lady at my new job today pointed out that this price tag was still hanging from my sleeve, so um, she knows the price too. Almost fooled them all.) | Steiger navy leather blue heels with brass eyelets, $7, ReStyle | Rampage woven brown leather belt, $2, Idaho Youth Ranch