Via confusion at the Blogora over what type of ears a graduate student is wearing, I read this Chronicle article about professional dress in academe. I too am confused about what type of ears the graduate student in this article is wearing, but I’m hoping for rabbit ears. 🙂
But this seems to link back to discussions of dress and embodiedness, which seem to keep coming up, both here at OSU and in the interblags. I’ve linked to Nels’s discussion and Horace’s two posts in the past in regards to masculinity and the academic body. And I often have to think about how I portray my own masculinity in my dress: are these pants too femme? What is this shirt conveying today? And also in my mannerisms. I know some of my students are conservative — how many do I “lose” by being visibly queer? I haven’t seemed to have a problem with that in the past, though it’s always in the back of my mind (and occasionally the forefront).
I think a lot of graduate students don’t consider dress very much, and often don’t dress up much for teaching. I’ve had discussions with various folks here about how should a teacher dress. On the one side, when I’m teaching, I tend to dress up more than if I weren’t. But also, I want to break down these “people who dress better deserve our respect more” notions that drift through the academy but also through society as a whole. I have no problem with a teacher dressing how they want, especially if they want to break down this notion of “professionalism” — but it seems that no one (that I talk to) holds discussions with their students about visual rhetoric of dress and how we “read” people’s clothing — at least in a way that asks “Why do we hold more respect for certain dress styles? And more importantly, should we?”
Not that I’m advocating destroying all social norms around dress here, but it seems that there is a severe limit on dress. For women, this revolves around not being too sexy (which is hard to hold metadiscourse around with so many heterosexual males in a class whose respect for a woman is already [often] limited, though probably subconsciously) or a varied other limitations — what Deborah Tannen has discussed as always being “marked.” For men, there is the luxury of not being marked, but there is also the possibility for holding discourse about the discourse of dress and choosing to “mark” oneself (queer, punk, lazy, etc.) — using male privilege to take the respect you garner just for being male and discussing how dress affects respect and privilege. I’ve discussed the “arguments” my clothing make with my first year writing students before, and since my course on writing in business often revolves around professionalism, we’ll probably talk about dress and audience expectations this term as well.
(Which reminds me that today we had a great conversation about assumptions we make about people in general and about writers based solely on their writing and how we need to question those assumptions in order to respond to people and take their claims seriously.)
I’m also reminded of this comment on Horace’s blog in which someone wrote:
Oh, and on the subject of the gusy who wear the stained t-shirts and shorts to class (and not just in summer school), I also share your hunch that it shows a disrespect for the students. It’s always the guys who write short and sharp comments on student papers and keep scant office hours. They’re also likely to be the guys who call female junior profs “girls” and yet fancy themselves radical lefties who “deconstruct the hierarchy of the classroom” with their casual wear. Oh please.
I’m not sure if I agree with her belief that these guys are showing disrespect for their students, but I do agree with her disdain in the belief that they are “deconstructing the hierarchy of the classroom” — at least, I think so — especially since so many pedagogy scholars have been noting that to believe in a flat hierarchy in the classroom is too ignore the power an instructor has (s/he still grades, still controls decisions, still has respect from students and often more knowledge about certain fields than students that doesn’t magically go away just because s/he wants them to).
But I feel like I’m rambling, so I’ll close up with one last note, going back to the Chronicle article. Ms. Mentor writes:
But away from the job market, fashion eccentricities tumble out: piercings, tattoos, depraved haircuts, voluminous or tiny clothes, and squirrel ears.
Yet eyebrow, lip, or tongue piercings always evoke some “Ew’s,” and not just from Ms. Mentor’s fuddy-duddy generation.
When I was teaching middle school, I was asked to remove my piercings, which I viewed as an integral part of my self-presentation. Of course, I did so, but I also viewed this as a lost educational moment. Here was a chance for someone who was qualified and respectful to be teaching and looking like someone who might not be as “qualified as respectful” — yet I didn’t have a chance to discuss with my students or their parents about what piercings mean, how they are read in our society, what they signify in various communities, and how we might subvert or questions our own expectations and assumptions. Though I also don’t know if my students and (more so) their parents were ready for that kind of discussion.
Here at OSU, I’ve been pretty free to have piercings. I’ve been asked by others if I am “allowed” to teach with my piercings in, but interestingly enough, no one in the English department mentions my piercings. I am assuming its West Coast style (a mixture of Midwestern friendliness with a dash of mind-your-own-business and live-and-let-live) to just assume that people will look different and to accept those differences, and also a more laid-back view of professionalism than there is in the Midwest. In fact, the only time I remember someone mentioning in the discipline my piercings was at 4C’s, when someone commented something along the lines of “Oh, you’re working on your master’s. No wonder you still have piercings in.” And I’m left wondering about other professional/academic settings and expectations and the future and if I’ll be “forced” to remove piercings because of certain restrictive social conventions.
I’m also curious what Ms. Mentor means by “depraved haircuts.”
EDIT: The link to the Chronicle article no longer works. Here is a link to the Chronicle article if you are a subscriber or want to subscribe.
For a definition of a “depraved haircut,” see my head, and the lines shaved therin.
Also, I would agree with you that the slovenly dressed man is not really deconstructing hierarchy – merely reinforcing his privilege to wear… well, whatever he wants within the bounds of “male attire.” To really “fuck shit up,” as my favorite punk adage says, would be to try and disentangle professionalism and attire entirely. Queer up (i.e. make slippery) the definition of academic dress.
I’m starting to suspect that dressing “professionally” is merely a power/class marker, to make it easier for your “colleagues” and others to recognize (and therefore [typify, stereotype, assign power to,] you) and has nothing to do with the skills that a profession requires – except in few cases such as acting, modeling or clothing design. Yes, there are hierarchies in place within a classroom, as there are in any profession. But perhaps we can do more to muddle the boundary, to attempt to destroy the associative powers of attire and power.
And teaching folks to be unable to recognize skill, genius, intelligence (different types of intelligence) and other “desirable qualities” based on appearance seems counterintuitive to building a classroom (or broadly, a society) based on multiple interpenetrated perspective.
Good post, Mr. Unprofessional. 🙂
So much I want to say here and it’s late (for me) now – so a quick post and more later (and also – the link to the Chronicle is not working now, sadly). In thinking about your post today (I’m a bit behind in reading), I was thinking of how people dress to signify tribal allegiances – the Scots with their plaids or professionals in uniforms (military, medical). River guides tend to dress in a similar style; construction workers; attorneys. Is blending in a kind of camouflage to not stand out? If a person wants to be accepted in or considered part of a group, would it not make sense to dress to match that group, whatever it was? Like matching discourse communities? Dress may also be a way to see who’s “in” and who’s not? Grad students who want PhD’s might dress like their professors, but as you point out, the dress of professors varies widely from institution, generation, and gender, though not always predictably. Notice who wears neckties, who wears jeans. The ratty jeans and dirty t-shirt you mention above seems counter productive, flaunting one’s guaranteed status and ending up looking like a jerk who is trying to pretend he doesn’t have status all the while determined to keep that status and privilege. Thus the privilege to do whatever. A desire to express one’s individuality in dress may or may not also be connected to a more radical effort to question/subvert traditional markers of class and status via clothes. Hmm — running out of steam here. Thanks for starting this conversation.
Ok I am definitely going to say more here – but here’s what I found on Laura’s blog this morning: Cultivated Pages:
“Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.” –Henry Thoreau. Yet I keep my clothes so long that even Goodwill doesn’t want them. I wear clothes that are older than my students – my Dad’s tennis sweater from 1928, sweaters of his from 1970. My dad had such style, pink shirts before they were in. He never wore black and neither did I until after he died, not because of mourning but I guess I felt freed to wear black then. Thinking and writing about clothes and what we choose and why and what it means — wonderful.