professorial garb

Last week when I read James Lang's piece on correct dress for the college professor, I found his statements--which, granted, he distanced himself from--regarding the way snappy dressers run an authoritarian classroom and sloppy ones a loose, open, discussion-oriented classroom to be too self serving. A sloppy dresser himself, he argued that it was appropriate to the way he runs his class:

"I will confess that I wonder about the motivations of the sharp dressers. I wonder whether they use sharp dressing as a means to establish their authority with students: 'Within these pointy shoes are contained the wisdom of the ages. The pointy shoes make me the boss.'

"I'm tempted, too, to equate sharp dressing with teaching style. According to reports from his students, the sharpest-dressed faculty member I ever knew--expensive suits hanging off a sculpted body--presented his views forcefully in his humanities classes, in lecture form, and expected students to repeat those views back to him on papers and exams."

As a snappy dresser myself--one who conforms to Lang's description ("Male sharp dressers wear ties to class every day. The ties match the shirts, and the shirts are sometimes in bright, bold colors. They wear brown and black shoes; sometimes those shoes are shiny. The most extreme wear suits--not khaki pants and a blue sports coat--but actual suits, in which the pants and the coat have been cut from the same material.")--I had to object. I run one of the most open and interactive classrooms I know of, I encourage my students to call me by my first name, I regularly clown around, make a fool of myself, and lean back on a desk (if I'm not actually sitting in one). Yet I wear a coat and tie most days (Tuesdays I teach only elementary language, so I allow a "dress casual" approach, and Thursdays I don't teach, so I don't even bother to shave), my shoes match appropriately (and hey, James Lang, your belt should match your shoes, too, by the way), my shirts are ironed (but never "in bright, bold colors"--I'll leave those for survivors of the disco floor along with rolled-up-sleeve 80s blazers and parachute pants), my ties vary greatly (while ever tasteful), and I even wear my real suit sometimes (though never for teaching with a tie--it took forever to find the right shirt to go with it that we could actually afford).

Why do I do this? Partially because I like to dress up once and a while. It's not uncomfortable if your clothes fit correctly (in fact, nothing I own fits me as well as my suit) and, as I always say, straight men only have so many ways to accessorize--ties really liven up your wardrobe. I mean, granted, my dress shoes are less comfortable than my Birkenstocks, but my Birks are less comfortable than bare feet, and most clothes are less comfortable than boxers and a t-shirt. Come on! Grow up and professionalize already. The point is that I mostly dress up for me. I don't really care what other professors wear themselves; I don't (really) care what the students think; I dress for me. I act professionally and I want to be treated professionally, so I dress the part.

Yet it wasn't always like that. In high school I learned how to wear a coat and tie for debate. It definitely dignified the activity and certainly granted increased credibility and authority with minimal effort and regardless of one's reasoning or argumentative tenacity. When I later became a TA (at 24), I thought I looked young for my age and so dressed nicely (my "dress casual"). It seemed natural, then, to take it up a notch when I started teaching full-time. (The goatee I tried for 18 months when I started as a TA did NOT make a return appearance, however.)

And then of course I started teaching full time without my Ph.D. and as a Visiting faculty member. And also as a late replacement for a sudden retiree at that. Did I feel I needed the little extra authority the coat and tie afforded? Yes. Do I still feel that way? No. Will I still put on one of my favorite ties on Sept. 5 for the first day of classes? Yes. Will I wear my favorite jacket and one of those favorite (green) ties to defend? Yes. Will I wear my suit to MLA interviews? Yes, and I'll wear one of my lucky (i.e., Carolina blue) ties to the interviews I really want to ace.

At any rant--I mean rate--the problems I had with Lang's piece pale with the more serious concerns raised in this response by Pamela Johnston. She addresses one of the many continuing double standards in academia regarding women. Ch-ch-check it out.