I hated the way I felt, the way I looked. I already had a blister, and I couldn’t stop buttoning and unbuttoning my blazer. When I arrived at the interview, I was sweating and panicky.

I added a pointed-toe kitten-heel pump, the type of shoe that made it clear, both in style and my subsequent gait, that I’d never worn anything but a sneaker. It cost enough to empty my checking account, but felt cheap, and the ill-fitting cut combined with the itchy fabric gave me a vague sense of unease almost as soon as I put it on.

I scoured department store racks and outlet malls until I found a dark gray suit with a single-button blazer and a flare leg trouser. They all said the same thing: a suit and heels. I asked the professional women I knew what to wear. I was 22-years-old, a socially anxious closeted lesbian from Cleveland who’d inexplicably moved to Dallas (?) to pursue a career in journalism (?) The interview was at a local newspaper. I’ll never forget what I wore to my first job interview, as much as I may want to. Four visionary women on the concept of traditional workwear and the power of dressing for yourself.