When Nicholas Allen, the friendly new face of fund manager Eaton Vance, bumped into me in the street and asked me if I had been behaving myself, he didn’t know the half of it.
Sadly, Nicholas and I were traveling in different directions as he assiduously expended shoe leather in the cause of his new employers.
They should be very happy with him – I keep bumping into him all over the city and he always looks purposeful, even on a Friday.
Not for him the casual threads or perhaps he needs a consultant to advise him on how to look cool but casual? (They have them in Japan, you know.) Go on Nick, take the plunge – on with the jeans and leather jacket, you know you want to and you’ll look fabulous when you unlock the wild man within!
All of which brings me to one of my current themes, which is corporate attire. I have never seen such a slovenly bunch of financial sector workers as I observed this week, and firmly believe that something needs to be done.
My pet hate is men in suits wearing shirts that are designed for ties, but not wearing them. Light coloured shirts are the worst.
Presumably they do this so that if they have an important meeting they can whip their tie on (elasticised?), but I just do not think this is good enough. They would be better going all metrosexual and wearing a t-shirt or another type of collared shirt that was not necessarily made for a tie at all.
I won’t even start on women’s attire. What is it with thongs in the office?
The colour of the revolution
My new theory is that corporate attire needs to be revolutionised. In the same way as the lime green vest has revolutionised work wear for tradies (and look how well they are doing!), so I believe that we in the financial sector need our own set of uniforms. We need our own version of the lime green vest.
I’m imagining a world where we are all colour coded in terms of our status, our employer and even our function. After all, most of the decent suit shops in the CBD are closing down because no one is buying and we need to take our cue from that. We are ready for a new sartorial era.
Imagine if there was “buy side” and “sell side” colour coding and you bumped into someone at Pie Face at lunchtime. You could recognise them immediately and do a deal there and then. Productivity would increase exponentially if only we knew who everyone was.
In terms of style, it couldn’t be worse than what I saw on the streets this week. Where is your pride, people? The dress sense was about as bad as that planeload of bogans with neck tattoos I flew up to Brisbane with during the week.
These were people in lime green vests without their vests on. No pointy end to the plane at all, and nothing to drink apart from cans of rum and cola, so I risked instant diabetes and drank rum and cola as other people’s infants crawled all over me and we spent another hour circling the airport waiting to land.
I fended off attempts from the stewardess to get me to pay for two tickets for being “oversize”. It’s not my fault, they just make the seats so much smaller these days to cram everyone in, I screamed as I ordered another Jim Beam and read a discarded Prison Ink magazine.
Three strikes and you’re disconnected
I was on my way to meet some software developers to work on a new business idea – a breath tester that stops you from tweeting, texting, emailing or posting on Facebook if you are over the limit. And if you are rejected three times inside 24 hours, your phone crashes.
Just think of how many jobs have been lost and relationships ended as a result of drunken texting? Well, I have the answer and I think it could be a great service to the world, and I’ll be recommending it to one of Australia’s greatest ever cricketers the next time I see him.
I have a prototype and I have to confess it has restricted my tweets over the last week. Every time I feel the need to tweet I must be over the limit. Does that say more about me or social media, I wonder? To my followers, I can only apologise – I’m working on changing my personal threshold to around 0.10 or 0.12, which is a far more accurate measure of what it takes for me to feel under the weather. This 0.05 is for lightweights!
Anyway, the flight dissolved into pandemonium when I reprimanded some kid for wiping his nose on me and his father, an office bearer in some bike gang, took exception and tried to open up the emergency exit and throw me out of the plane.
Of course the pilot had no choice but to fly back to Sydney, which probably meant an hour wait and then a repeat flight, with the same passengers, back up to Brisbane. What a prospect!
When we landed I grabbed my phone with the intention of tweeting about the experience to my legions of followers, only for it to tell me I was over the limit for the third attempt that day, after which it promptly crashed and wouldn’t restart. I had no idea that lolly water was so alcoholic.
So, to answer your question Nicholas, no, I haven’t been behaving, but I claim extenuating circumstances. If I could only text you, I could explain.