Fashion is biased. We are shown pictures of “pretty people” and “hot new styles” in magazines and on TV all the time. Buses whiz by just moments before we’re supposed to have caught them with images of “beautiful” men and women in their “snazzy” threads. Who are these people? Are you one of them? Am I? How do we know?

When I was a kid, my dad used to force me to wear corduroy pants to school. But not just any kind of corduroy pants, no, that would have been too kind. He insisted I wear dooky brown or hospital grey corduroys — the two favorite colors of kids who like to make other kids eat dirt. He would say, “School is not a fashion show” which he clearly picked up from the “How To Make Your Kids Have A Miserable Educational Experience” handbook, or he may have gotten it from the “How To Be One of Those Dads” manual. In our household, white was also off limits, as were skirts for some dad-type reason.

Now that we are adults, it’s relieving to know that my dad’s words rang utterly empty — fashion really doesn’t matter at all. Ha! And paisley goes with houndstooth, whatever that means. I wish I could go back to my 10-year-old me just to kick my dad in the shin and say, “Hey dad! Guess what? Fashion does matter, ya dinkus!” and then insist he go change out of his jogging pants and “Home of the Mustache Ride” T-shirt he used to wear with total disregard for my popularity or future.

Since the opportunity to go back into time and violently assault my dad is unlikely to happen, I get back at him by wearing white all the time, sometimes in the mud. I also wear skirts, often while riding my bike. Take that, society/dad!

I have also developed a ridiculous sense of fashion that allows me to match and combine any kind of fabrics or patters I like, as long as it is aesthetically pleasing to at least me. My general fashion rules are as follows:

Did at least 2 of my female friends or any lady strangers compliment me on this outfit? Then, it’s a hit.

Did I get cat-called on the way to or from work while wearing this outfit? Check plus.

Did I get cat-called at work? Home run.

To make a long story short, when dressing for the office, you should do the same thing. Look where it got me. I’m “unemployed” unless you count touring the world writing and singing songs about vaginas a “job,” which I most certainly do. The best thing about this “job” is that I can wear whatever the hell I want to. Which is more than I can say for whatever office you view your NSFW videos in while you’re supposed to be stapling or filing or whatever they pay you $11.50 an hour to pretend to be doing.

So, in closing, wear whatever you want to your job, unless you like where you work. In that case, wear work stuff – ya know, khakis, slacks, blazers, and other outfits that have strange names that actually just mean pants and shirts. Or take a chance and try putting some random patterns together or mixing heels and jeans – look out! If anyone tries to give you a hard time, just say, hey, don’t like my outfit? Dial 1 800 Bite Mee, and just say “Meeeeeee” for an extra long time so they get it that there’s an extra E on the end