Dressed for success 1/4: A good impression

I was alone in a small office building with a man at least twice my age, ostensibly interviewing for an account-manager position. But, in an alarming development, I found myself fielding questions about my love life and footwear. My mind had snapped into “oh crap” mode, and I was trying to track his words while conducting a thought experiment on whether I could outrun him. He was middle aged and portly, and I was sitting slightly closer to the door—surely I had the advantage. On the other hand, I was wearing dress shoes.

It was the summer of 1988, and I was a recent college graduate with few job prospects. And yet I was on my second interview at a small P.R. firm that specialized in marketing materials for small colleges. The president of the company had spent the first interview having me analyze various documents from client institutions. He’d seemed impressed by my critiques, and I was flattered to be asked back for a second interview.

But the conversation had taken a strange turn while were discussing the demands of the job, which required frequent travel and long days. That’s when he suddenly asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Do I . . . wait, what?

I was confused and oddly embarrassed. Had I done or said something to prompt such an inappropriate question? Why would he ask me that? Was it legal? What was the “right” answer? Would saying “No” make me sound . . . oh god . . . available? Would saying “Yes” make me seem unambitious?

In the heat of the moment I couldn’t think of a lie that would neutralize all potential threats. So I heard myself say “No,” and immediately hated myself for answering at all. I continued in a carefully metered tone, “Why do you ask?”

He ignored my question. “Oh good,” he said. “I don’t like to hire girls who have boyfriends. The boyfriends are a distraction, and sometimes the girls run off with them or get married, and then they quit.”

(Wow. His explanation was not helping.)

He continued: “You see, I prefer hiring girls for my account reps. They work harder than men, they’re smart, and girls don’t have the big egos. Plus they’re good with clients.” He gave me a satisfied grin, and I got the feeling he was awarding himself points for his progressive attitude about the usefulness of women in the workplace.

“And I appreciate that you dress well,” he said. He nodded directly at my shoes, a pair of black pumps that were new, unscuffed, and featured all the requisite discomforts. “It’s important to make a good impression on clients.”

“True,” I replied, but I felt an urgent need to create some distance in this conversation. So I said, “I should mention that I won’t be wearing heels every day.”

“Oh?” he said, no longer smiling.

“Um, right. I have knee problems. The heels are bad for my knees. I can wear them on special occasions. Otherwise dress pants and flat dress shoes are what I prefer to wear.”

The interview ended soon thereafter with a perfunctory handshake. I never got a call back.