Dresspectations

I was standing in line at Walgreens, dressed on my way to AU, minding my pastoral business (which at Walgreens usually means toothpaste and mints). The gentleman next to me kept staring. Finally, he said, “You look familiar. Are you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“A doctor?”

I did shake my head.

“A professor?”

“No.”

He paused. “I give up.”

So, I asked him, “Why didn’t you ask if I’m a janitor? Or a cashier? Or a plumber?”

He shrugged. “Because of the way you are dressed.”

Aha. So, it still matters. Like it or not, appearance still speaks. A suit suggests degrees. A uniform suggests skill. A hard hat suggests strength. Clothing is a language, and we are all fluent in it.

But here’s the other side of the Walgreens’ interaction. A suit can also deceive. A sharp jacket can hide a dull character. A polished shoe can cover shaky integrity. History and recent headlines have shown us that a well-tailored outfit can belong to a con artist as easily as to a respected professional. 

People read signals. We present ourselves every day without saying a word. In a world that often feels increasingly casual about everything, there’s something refreshing about intentionality, about showing up respectfully and purposefully. But on the other hand it doesn’t matter nearly as much as we think because character is not stitched into fabric.

They are two equal and opposite temptations. On one side: to judge by appearance. On the other: to curate appearance so carefully that it becomes camouflage.

One side says, “Dress makes the man.” The other whispers, “Dress can fake the man.” Somewhere in the middle is the_ _ _ _ _ _ (I couldn’t find a good word, just fill in the black.)

We all wear something every day: clothes, titles, roles, expectations. Pastor. Teacher. Parent. Student. Retiree. Volunteer. Professional.  They are outfits, not “infits”, not identity.

If a suit earns respect, wonderful.

If overalls build a house, fantastic.

If scrubs heal a patient, great.

But the real question is not what we are wearing in line at Walgreens. It’s who we are when the suit, or the overalls, or the scrubs comes off.