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New York City is a steamy, drippy disaster. I wake up sopping in my Huis Clos of a bedroom with no air conditioning. I stare at the closet. Suits. Pants. Work-appropriate wear. So stifling. So unappealing. So Sartre.
I have long been tempted to pull a massive corporate dress code violation and show up in shorts at the office. The heat wave, melting everybody, is making a madness of pants. Our photo editor—he of the pressed Oxfords and professional-man slacks—started popping onto the 43rd floor in mod-Dad Bermudas, gruppie sneakers, and a delighted bounce in his step. Inspiration! Another temptation: Next week I am spending a few days with a high-ranking technology executive who, over the course of her entire career, has worn shorts to the office every single day. “What’s with the shorts?” I asked her. “Oh,” she answered, “I’m just more comfortable in them.” Revelation!
Yesterday I pulled on some gold short shorts and paired them with white, knee-high boots to approximate a miniskirt ensemble. I jumped on my bicycle rickshaw, dropped my daughter off at our babysitter’s, and then pumped my pedals from Greenwich Village to midtown. I arrived at our skyscraper in media gulch and pulled into my premium parking spot at the bike rack in front of the building. The rest of the day was leg-cooling bliss. A work moment I will always remember. Shorts in the office. A marvel.
Today I reverted to norm. Question: with heat waves rolling across the country, does the corporate dress code need an update for the age of global warming? Oh, and the roof. Can we get a pool?
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