Ever since leaving the Attorney General’s somewhat formal office environment (black suits, grey suits, pant suits, twin-sets) for the significantly more eclectic atmosphere of Cabinet Office New Media, I’ve been feeling the pain of the bureaucratization of my wardrobe.

At the height of my funkiness, circa my Silver Snail Comic Shop employee days a few years back, my dresser was crammed full of graphic tees embellished with interesting ribbons, hand-sewn patches and funky bias-cut necklines. Pink and black skirts sporting a shameless quantity of taffeta were hung next to purple velvet blazers in the closet. The clothes may or may not make the woman, but I was definitely kicking my own style.

From my former technicolour splendour, I have sunk into a monochrome abyss of black pinstripe and grey tweed. Given my blindingly caucasian skin-tone and dark hair, most days I feel like I could blend into the set of Pleasantville with little or no effort. I’m sure my coworkers would be quick to remind me of my experiments with striped and lime-green tights, but the fact remains: the situation has become dire. My clothes suck.

Today was the breaking point. I went to U of T’s Rotman School of Management for a really excellent talk by Rahaf Harfoush (a New Media strategist who worked on the Obama campaign) and naturally, what with Rotman being a business school, there were suits, suits, everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Being a keener, I sat in the front row, which put me at eye-level with Alexander Manu’s feet. When he sat down for the after-talk discussion, I noticed he was wearing one orange sock and one green sock. Brilliant! A splash of irreverence, of creativity, of colour in an otherwise crisply professional facade.

On the way home from dinner after the talk, I was drawn into a local clothing store. I can’t really say what happened while I was in there, but I walked out with $300 worth of stuff. There’s a lot of polka-dot and corduroy action happening in that bag. There’s also a pleated dress that looks like it might have time traveled out of the 1960s. And a green and gold striped sweater with a cowl large enough to conceal a parachute pack, if I ever wanted to carry such a thing surreptitiously on my person.

The insanity didn’t stop there. Never forget my awful addiction to the Internets. When I got home with my loot, I paused to check my e-mail. Lo and behold, a message from Glarkware. They’re having a “Black Friday” sale: all t-shirts $5 and all hoodies $10! Sign me up! Another $50 later, and I’m the proud new owner of a large quantity of absurdly nerdy t-shirts, some featuring sock monkeys.

For now, the beast is sated. I will rest my poor weary Visa for a while, and absorb these new pieces into my closet, hopefully rejuvenating my tragically deflated sense of personal pizazz. But the hiatus won’t be long – it’s winter, and baby needs a new pair of snowpants. Not to mention a crazy Christmas sweater to wear home for Mum. Perhaps some new boots. And some dark red gloves, to match my glasses…