I got up late this morning. I hadn't done any laundry lately, due to an injured back (I couldn't lift my laundry basket until today), and I didn't have anything to wear to work. Work is being a temporary secretary for a woman who has been my boss in a few other capacities - I'm her personal chef a few nights a week, and I was her research assistant as an undergrad. Being her secretary is the most formal relationship we've ever had, and it's a little weird. And boring.
I put jeans on, and a plain tshirt I bought from Target just to wear to work. And I felt weird, because I knew I could get away with wearing jeans, but knowing that I probably shouldn't. No one would ask me why I was dressed so informally, or even give me funny looks because of my class privilege. It's the part of the privilege that keeps people from judging me, or using my appearance as a reflection of my class. I've never been called white trash, but I've never been called a rich bitch, or it's antisemitic cousin, JAP, to my face either. And I work hard to not be called a JAP - it's a way that antisemitism and classism cross. Jews are told we should work hard and become rich, but not too rich. But that's an entry for another time.
And yet, my cultural capital told me very firmly that I shouldn't wear jeans to a formal workplace. That's a piece of middle class/owning class knowledge.
(PS. Just after midnight totally counts as the day before, right?)
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