By Erica and Karen

We both had stylish women around us as we were growing up. Even so, it took a while before we realized that dressing is a form of communication—a very important one, since clothes are the first thing people see. We were especially slow to perceive this universal truth because when we were young and in school, bell bottom jeans and workboots were the costume of young people of both sexes, everywhere. We were all saying the same thing, so thinking about what we were trying to communicate seemed unnecessary. (That was OK because we had no money for clothes anyway.)

Eventually, once we started working, we wanted to dress up. We began to develop an appreciation of the power of women’s style. (Men’s too, but this post is about women!) The late ‘60s and early ‘70s, when we entered the workforce, was a time of change. We were in the first very large wave of young women determined to have careers. And we needed to look the part.

At first, it was not too difficult to get a fix on what we were supposed to wear in the office. (Different story regarding what we were supposed to wear when some dreaded social event occurred.) The available women’s office clothes looked like men’s suits but smaller, with skirts. Blocky blue and black suits devoid of style. Blocky oxford shirts (which we sometimes wore with ties) that made no concession to the difference between women’s and men’s shapes. Blocky black or brown pumps that did nothing for us other than provide a walking surface. Blocky black or brown brief cases. Completely uninspiring and unfun. The only advantage they offered was that we might pass for men, so maybe no-one would notice that we were new and different.

After a few years, we rebelled. We were working night and day, and it was just not right that we also had to look like little men. At the same time, designers were coming up with clothes for working girls that did acknowledge that we were physically different from men—and psychologically different too.

Once we decided to start thinking about clothes, we cracked the code. It was all about suits. Wearing a suit demonstrated that we knew we had to conform. But once we accepted that we had to wear a suit, we could do anything. We could finally ditch the black and blue, and go for some color. Tame at first, then neon pink and deep turquoise and emerald green. Silk, linen, leather, sequins (well, maybe a few). Patterns. Polka dots. Wide stripes. All were accepted—as long as they were arrayed in a suit. A skirt suit, in the early days.

Then the revolution went further. Dresses. Diane von Furstenberg’s wrap dresses (now selling for hundreds on eBay!) were a breakthrough. Beautiful colors, stretchy fabric that could be worn tighter or looser depending on the state of our diets, colors and patterns. And sexy too!

It took a long time to get to pant suits—even though by then men were pretty much copying us (badly) by wearing pale blue polyester leisure suits.

Once we started to feel some freedom of attire, we started feeling much better about our work lives. We came out as women. We enjoyed wearing fun clothes, and we began to realize there was a lot to the idea of dressing for success. The man’s world we had entered began to look a little different.

As we grew more confident in our careers, and as more women appeared in our offices, our clothes got more adventurous. Erica went to board meetings in a fabulous red flowered suit. Pink polka dots covered one of Karen’s favorite court suits (which prompted court reporters to expand the array of colored pencils they brought to hearings.) We were signaling that we knew had a place in this world we loved, and we wanted to be seen for who we were.

We are no longer practicing law, but we have not changed our views about the power of clothes for women. We still dress purposefully. What are our clothes saying now? That we still have what it takes, we are still vibrant players on the world stage, and we are ready for some adventure.

What are your clothes saying?