Two in the morning on a Tuesday. Netflix asks if you’re still watching. You click “yes” aggressively because your eyes are bloodshot and you’ve been up for hours mindlessly bingeing shows – a convenient pastime where you avoid adulthood by pretending to watch TV.
This particular bender was season 5 of Cobra Kai, season 3 of Ozark, all of Terrace House: Berlin, and who knows what else. You’ve been consuming so many series you’ve lost track, and now, halfway through a pint of mint chocolate chip, you think: What if I became these characters? No, not literally inhabit their skin and live their bizarre lifestyles.
Don clothesweeks!”* *I actually said this out loud. To myself.
Stay mad.
A light bulb flashes above my head: what if I dressed like them? My Monday-through-Friday wardrobe consists of what my assistant affectionately describes as “approachable menswear professor chic.” The most embellished garment in my closet is a velvet Jim jams robe. Could I – a slight 35-year-old style writer – channel the fashion of television’s most formidable dresser?
I pitched my editor the insane idea (“it’s brilliant/hilarious/dumb, honestly Jack I can’t tell anymore”) and immediately booked a month’s worth of dry cleaning. Turns out my roommate Marcus had already stocked extra hangers in our shared closet for the emergency. “Oh Jesus,” he said when I explained my plan. “You know I still live with you in NYC at age 30, don’t judge me.” Marcus has long ago given up trying to change my erratic housing decisions, so he just sighed and hoped for the best. Day 1: Succession’s Kendall Roy Kendall was as close to my normal wardrobe as I’d be comfortable starting from.
Crewneck jumpers, fitted trousers, baseball caps. It can’t be that hard to just… up the polish, right? Wrong.
Very wrong. As I soon learned, there are a lot of subtle details that make Kendall who he is. It’s all about being just tasteful enough to not realise what a jerk he is.
His navy is “midnight.” His grey is “smoke.” His brown is “bitter chocolate.” I dug through our office fashion archive – AKA the Style Authority closet – to find the priciest basics I could. $420 plain black baseball cap, $800 wool-blend cashmere crewneck jumper (looks like a $50 H&M one to anybody not reading this article), and some brick-coloured Nike Cortez “just gag me with a straw” minimal trainers that aren’t really trainers at all. My total was easily more than my monthly rent payment, which I loved. Kendall loves spending more money than he probably should.
I slicked my hair back so aggressively with pomade that it wouldn’t move if it tried. Said “fuck off” a few times into my flat bathroom mirror for practise. And out the door I went.
The first soul I encountered was our office receptionist, Tanya. “Are you going somewhere?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Um, “No, I’m sort of… being Kendall Roy today?” I replied. “What? Your depressed cousin?” Strike one. The rest of the day I kept Kendall’s shoulders slouched and eyebrows permanently lowered in mild desperation.
I spoke only in declarative statements that sounded like questions. Caught four unnecessary Ubers between errands. Ordered a $22 green juice I didn’t want.
And glanced at my phone compulsively, waiting for his father’s voice to boom through like he owned the place. Truth be told, I’m surprised our older clientele didn’t mistake me for an actual billionaire when I went out to lunch. The only person who got the shtick was our office’s 24-year-old social media coordinator who walked by me in the hallway, did a double take, and whispered “fuck off” under his breath.
The parenting. I’ve never felt more seen in my life. After work, I met up with my old college friend Trevor for drinks who, like most of my friends, had never heard of Succession. “Do you ever feel like you’re getting too old for this stuff?” he asked, referring to my haircut and colour-coordinated neutered trainers.
We spent the evening trading life updates, and I felt my wallet growing lighter as I tipped like Kendall would – for being the world’s worst assistant. “What are you doing tomorrow?” Trevor asked, as we wrapped up our night. “Another day at the office,” I said. “Being someone different!” “Someone… different?” Trevor eyed my outfit suspiciously, like he thought I had sneakily changed into another costume while he wasn’t looking. “Why don’t you just dress normally tomorrow? You look like you work at The Gap… right now.” Day 2: Emily in Paris Emily…damn. Paris.
I always get stuck on Emily from Emily in Paris whenever exercises like this pop up. This was going to be difficult on multiple levels. My solution?
Channel her energy instead of her actual wardrobe. Florals, pastels, creamy tees, and fuck-it-all attitude of a reality show protagonist who believes American’s don’t have to abide by Parisian dress codes. A Paul Smith floral shirt, checked blazer, red trousers, and white loafers completed the ensemble.
No beret because let’s be real – I have standards. But I did tie a thin Hermès silk scarf around my neck, because my grandpa would’ve called it “European.” I looked like I was wearing the uniform of a children’s PBS art museum show host. The instant reaction from my coworkers was- “No fucking way.” Literally nobody knew who I was meant to be representing today.
Jason, our big cheese editor- in-chief stopped walking to deliver this with a mouth full of ginger almond Pret. “You look like you’re about to upsell me on a very expensive ice cream cone,” Frankie, our baby-faced editorial assistant told me. Okay, never trust anybody under the age of 25 with an opinion on fashion. Worst of all was my lunch meeting with the founder of this dope up-and-coming American-made denim company.
We had Instagram’d each other’s clothes in anticipation, so imagine my surprise when he breezed into our office lobby wearing head-to-toe denim and sized me up with disgust like we were up on the subway and he was scared I was gonna rip his NY Times. “You’re….Jackson Reed?” he confirmed as if hoping I’d say “no lol jk continue interviewing me.” We spent the entire interview with him refusing to look me in the eye like he thought Justin Bieber wearing Girls Don’t Cry sherbet Adidas would give him pink eye. I folded my red trousers in ways they’ve never been folded before just walking to my desk. I’m still boycotting their denim.
Day 3: Ted Lasso If you didn’t die inside a little when Coach died, we cannot be friends. Ted Lasso was all I listened to/ watched/ thought about for a solid month after season 1 dropped. As soon as I saw him pop up on the mood board my team put together for me, I knew he was gonna be a full mood.
Khakis, collared shirt, v-neck jumper. Oh, and Ted famously rocks a moustache. Amazon Prime legit delivered my moustache at like 3 am while I impatiently refreshed “checkout.” Maybe I should’ve went with a fake beard like King Hamlet, but where’s the fun in that?
Also found an AFC Richmond scarf on Etsy. Because yes, the internet is still wonderful AND terrifying at its ability to find very specific things people buy and never use. As you can see in the above photo, the moustache…did not agree with me.
Every. Single. Time.
I. Opened. My.
Mouth. It didn’t take long for my skin to develop a raging allergic reaction to what must’ve been glue used to apply the ridiculousness. But you know what?
Ted would never say something sucks just because it sucks. He’d power through, honey. The reactions I received were game-changing.
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I came into work that morning and handed out biscuits I “baked” (local bakery, I owe you one) to everybody. Smiled at everyone so hard they probably thought I was selling something. Left encouraging Post-its on people’s computers when they were away (💌 “You’re crushing those quotas!” 💌 “Can’t wait to read your next article!
Thought you might enjoy this pep talk!”). Within an hour I had people crawling up to my desk to unload personal problems. Mandi, our fierce fashion director, told me about how her boyfriend might propose with a round-cut diamond (she hates diamonds) and how she couldn’t tell her family who designed her engagement ring before he bought it. “WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?! ?” I exclaimed.
I also had an intern ask me if they should go to graduate school or try to “make it” in media. Receptionist Tanya spent 10 minutes telling me about her new puppy. By the time lunch rolled around, I felt like I had truly embraced the Ted Lasso spirit.
Plus, my-cols-and-T shared made me feel like a baddie. The real test came during an editorial meeting when I repeatedly cut my boss off with quotes from Ted like, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade… and find somebody’s throat to squirt it on.” Nobody knew what I was talking about (including me), but my energy shifted the mood and we avoided arguing over our May cover story. Day 4: Yellowstone’s Beth Dutton Ok, this one was risky.
Yellowstone is TV’s hottest show right now, and star Caitlin Moscatello slays through each episode dressed in expensive leather boots and West-Wear brandishing cowboy hats. I couldn’t exactly do a cowboy hat (I don’t own one and my cowboy swagger is terrible), but I could ride that Buffalo straight to fashion town. Black jeans, black boots with a slight heel (totally not cowboy boots, I swear I take riding lessons), black button-up, and black blazer felt intensely Beth but still in my wheelhouse.
I tamed my hair down (sorta) and practiced my cold Beth eyes in the mirror for far too long. The reactions to Beth were mixed. Truth be told, some folks didn’t get it at all and honestly just thought I was having a tough day.
But Beth would never back down from a challenge, so I pushed through. The irony is I got the Amy response from MOST of our female coworkers. Our managing editor Laura stopped me in the hallway and hissed, “If you call me ‘baby’ one of these days, I’m actually going to HR.” True story.
Laura watches Yellowstone religiously. But boss lady Beth faced no men. I tackled my workday with a ruthless efficiency I didn’t know I possessed.
Typed super direct emails with zero “sorry” language. Made swift decisions and stopped overthinking. Didn’t cave to my usual nice-guy answers and plainly told a PR person I didn’t want to meet that “that doesn’t work for me” when they asked.
Zero apologies. Honestly, it was kind of amazing. And fucking terrifying.
Similar to my Ted Lasso day, I had my biggest victory during a phone call with an advertiser who typically tries to strong-arm our editorial team. I found myself standing up straighter in my chair, my boots firmly planted on the ground, when I told him confidently “Look, that’s not how it works here, and I know you’re aware.” I didn’t scream at him or hang up (yet), but he immediately backed down and agreed to terms. Beth would have been proud.
Day 5: The White Lotus’ Tanya McQuoid It’s no secret that I’m obsessed with Jennifer Coolidge. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to channel her explosive wealth and emotional instability. But Mr.
Coolidge had other plans. Tanya McQuoid, COO of The White Lotus, fits under the same “women’s clothing” music I knew I’d have to lean into loosely to get the point across. This wasn’t about the outfits alone.
It was about energy. Cream linen trousers, oversized silk tropical shirt, gold chains, oversized sunglasses I refused to take off indoors. I carried an oversized straw tote bag I looked exceptionally SUS swinging around downtown and wore a big straw hat on a 40 degree day.
I kept a large silk scarf draped over my shoulder I would later use to dab at fake tears with. Said dramatic sigh approximately every 5 minutes. “I thought you were having a breakdown!” the barista at my regular coffee shop said as I placed my order. Best.
Compliment. Ever. Naturally, I came into work and browsed Facebook on everyone’s computers so I could tell them how great they were doing.
Talked over people to point out tiny aesthetically pleasing details. (“LOOK AT THAT CAMERA ANGLE, FRIENDS. SOINCREADIBLY BASIC BUT YET THEY FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE IT WORK.”) Dramatically put my bag down so it ripped across the floor because that’s how I roll. Our executive producer stopped me in the hallway to tell me how my way of leaning forward when I talk is “super intimidating!” Uh, okay?
News to me? ! But of course, lunch was where I threw all caution to the wind. Our weekly staff lunch takes place at the same deli where I “ordered” for the entire table, purposefully getting everyone’s order wrong in the worst ways possible. “He’ll have the turkey sandwich, but can you make the turkey sad?” I asked our deli guy as I slid into the seat. “Like a really depressed turkey.” Our lunch guy just nodded, and I swear to God if he rolled his eyes I was asking for my cheque.
Either way, New Yorkers and their ability to take ANYTHING is why I love this city. Moral of the story? FUCK THAT GUY.
The Aftermath My skin still itches from allergic reactions to adhesive/Ted Lasso moustache glue, but I have a newfound appreciation for how clothes impact my day. Feeling like Ted gave me the confidence to reach out to more people and make genuine connections. Pairing like a grown-ass woman took me seriously at work but made me come off as cold.
And damn if dressing like Kendall didn’t make me feel like a total douche despite spending less than I usually do on my wardrobe. What surprised me most was how quickly people reacted to the energy I was putting out there, regardless of the accuracy of the costume. By lunchtime each day my coworkers were responding to me as Beth, Ted, or Kendall – social cues that I wasn’t even aware we were sending out.
Clothing is a language we all speak. Sure, my coworkers know who I am and my typical work personality, but they immediately adapted to how I was acting and dressed that day. Maybe we’re all costume playing our whole lives and just trying to convince people it’s authentic.
Live your best life, I guess.
Am I going to pull the Emily in Paris socks out on random Fridays from now on? You bet your fancypants ass I am.
Would I do the challenge again? Absolutely not. My skin still isn’t back to normal and God knows what Matt and I spent on dry cleaning that week.
But as with all great experiments, I took notes. The cockiness I felt wearing Beth’s inspired power suit has me speaking up more at work. And next time I have a day where I need to project confidence, I’ll rock those damned red trousers.
As for calling people bullshit and sending them howling into the sunset? Sorry, not happening. Not today, Beth.
