I’ll preface this by saying that buying $200 worth of costume supplies on a public school teacher’s salary is ridiculous. There are important bills to pay and budget-friendly places to buy clothes other than Target. Still, I found myself standing outside of my house trying to explain to my wife Jessica why we were out of our normal shopping budget because I bought a plastic collar and an odiferous fake moustache from Party City. “It’s for an experiment,” I told her.
Which was true, kind of … and not at all. I didn’t tell her the experiment mostly involved me trying not to look like a complete idiot wearing inappropriate get-ups around town. Earlier that week I had read a bunch of pop psychology articles discussing how clothes impact your overall confidence levels.
Stuff about mindsets and enclothed cognition, which is just a scientific way of saying if you dress the part you’re more likely to act the part. Makes sense.
I knew I always took my students more seriously when I wore my only suit jacket, as opposed to when I wore my Target polo shirt and clearance khakis from Kohl’s.
Hell, I took myself more seriously when I wore that one suit jacket. But I wanted hard data. So I decided I would wear outfits that emulated characters I recognised from TV for an entire week.
But not just any characters. British characters. Too often I feel like American TV wardrobe options have been distilled into dad clothes and banker clothes.
Oversized jumpers and khakis you can’t button your jeans over. I wanted variety, plus accents and extraordinary characters that Americans could never quite get right. Birmingham crime boss?
Cheque. Mad scientist from the north of England? Verify.
Kind-hearted badass with a trigonometry degree? You bet your Queen’s English we’ve got that. My biggest fear going into the project was spending money.
Jessica and I are extremely budget conscious and plan nearly every dollar of our income around necessities. (Why do we have Netflix?! We NEED a Netflix!) Costume-y pieces tend to be expensive, or dingy looking so they can be cheap. I made myself promise any purchases would have to serve a dual purpose and be clothing I could re-wear after the study was complete.
So I’d be wearing Dockers anywhere I went from here on out. Monday was Tommy Shelby of Peaky Blinders fame. Easy starter since I already had most of the outfit.
Navy three-piece suit I bought for my wedding (the prom sale at Men’s Wearhouse – buy one, get one half off), a plain white button-up shirt and black boots. All I had to purchase was a flat cap and a pocket watch wrist strap thing. Even with those additional items I spent less than $40.
Winner. It wasn’t until I put that flat cap on that I realised how big of a difference clothes make. I’ve worn hats in the past – ball caps and trendy fedoras in my early twenties when I was overflowing with stylish swagger.
But an adult-size flat cap? That made me feel like I was wearing a costume. Which, I guess I was.
Once I adjusted the stiff brim I immediately felt different walking down the street. Like I owned the pavement or something. I’ve never been confident enough to hold someone’s eye too long when walking past them.
But I did that week. All. Week.
Never took the damn thing off. My homeroom immediately noticed when I walked in. “Mr. Peterson, why do you look creepy today?” Madison asked, which I took as a compliment.
I spent the entire day channeling my inner Birmingham brow-beater. Didn’t matter that I looked nothing like Cillian Murphy and probably sounded more like Jasper ‘Two-Shoes’ Cunningham when I tried to mimic Thomas Shelby’s voice. I walked with more authority than normal, and my first period class was completely silent when I gave directions for the day’s activities.
Mr. Shelby doesn’t tolerate goofing off when we go over the periodic table. Even the copy machine repair guy treated me with respect.
Anytime that trash piece of technology explodes with a giant metallic groan I have to wait ten minutes while some guy I pay minimum wage to refill toner tells me how to care for my own equipment. This guy actually called me sir. And explained how to fix the problem step by step.
Gave me his direct cell phone number in case it happened again. Lesson here kids: buy a stupid hat and all of sudden you’re running that man’s world. Tuesday I would be the Twelfth Doctor, by which I mean Peter Capaldi’s iteration.
David Tennant is too yellow for my complexion, anyway. Unfortunately this get-up required some shopping. I didn’t own a navy velvet blazer, so I hit up every thrift store in Columbus till I found one at Plato’s Closet.
Thirty-five bucks. Added that to my black jeans, white shirt, and Doc Martens I treated myself to on my thirtieth birthday. Set me back about $50 altogether if you don’t count the boots I stole from my mother and raised white-collar crime.
Teaching middle school as a mad man with a box was interesting. Best way to explain it is every lesson became a dissertation on the expansiveness of the universe and how marvelously scientific things work. And my eighth graders ate it up.
Mostly because they had no idea what I was talking about, but still. Three kids stayed after school Wednesday to ask me more questions about space. It was the closest I’d got to my students since conferences began.
Dr. Peanuts taught me that confidence can be achieved through textiles. Once I slipped that blazer on I felt smarter.
Craziest. Dressing like a mad man from space made me want to swing from the chandelies and pontificate about things I didn’t know to teenagers who couldn’t care less. Hell, during lunch duty I gave my students an impassioned speech about how bringing a pizza lunch to the school cafeteria is mankind’s greatest triumph since the discovery of fire.
And it kind of made sense! The teachers probably thought I was having a nervous breakdown. Wednesday was Ted Lasso day which meant I purchased khakis for the first time since college.
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Twenty-eight bucks at Target. They’ll never get worn again but at least I can say I donated to the American economy when I bought them. Paired that with a blue jumper from Walmart and, of course, the offending moustache.
God that thing hurt my feelings just looking at it. It kept sliding around too. Made me look more like a recent Crazy Horse casualty than a happy-go-lucky football coach.
Ted was exhausting to teach as. Impossible to slouch or speak in monotone when you’re hellbent on being joyful all the time. The kids responded to it, though.
Third period actually listened and did group work without me having to remind them that detention is fun. But also sucks. Had parent conferences after lunch which meant spending an hour wearing a cheap Party City moustache while chatting with Mrs.
Chen about her daughters grades. Awkward? You bet.
But Mr. Lasso stayed in character the entire time so we had a constructive conversation about how Angela can improve on homework this quarter. Felt great to get through that meeting without accusing the poor woman of not caring about her daughter’s education when she was trying her best.
Made the whole situation better when I inadvertently called her coach at the end of the meeting. Thursday was White Priest from Fleabag, which necessitated buying actual priest clothing. Got the whole kit and kaboodle online for sixty bucks.
Shockingly expensive until I saw the craftsmanship that went into the stupid shirt. That collar. Feels like Satan uses it to whip you into spiritual shape every time I put it on.
Entering the school as a priest made people treat me differently. Front office staff gave me weird looks when I came in, and Principal Martinez had to explain to me that her morning meeting didn’t require a spontaneous revival session. But people did invite me to speak more.
More formally. And listened when I did. Students too.
Something about dressing like a priest made them better behaved. Maybe there’s something to robes we’ve completely abandoned in the name of casual Fridays. I didn’t wear the collar while teaching (obviously), but retained the shirt and black jacket.
Still felt prime priest. Listened more. Answered questions with more intention.
One of my students even asked if I was okay because I “seemed like a downer today.” Friend me after I wore that get up. But good. Kicking off day 5 in the style of Villanelle from Killing Eve.
Pulled out my one nice suit for this day. Plaid button down numero uno purchased during a moment of weakness in the J.Crew sale section last spring. Set me back $150.
Jess still brings that purchase up when we discuss finances. It’s a nice suit though. Flowy, deep cut plaid that I’ll actually wear outside of this escapade.
Guy who got the best reaction all week from students and coworkers. Felt fly as hell. Got several compliments walking around the school.
Obviously I can’t walk into school dressed like a Bond villain every day, but something about wearing that suit made me a bolder teacher. Perfect silhouette, if I do say so myself. Held eye contact with kids longer.
Voiced my answers with more authority. Honestly may have put a finger to my chin every now and then. Jodie Comer does it all the time when she’s plotting and clearly I’m a mastermind.
Kids were intrigued. Terrified. Lovely mixture. “Mr.
Peterson you look like you got dressed up as a Disney villain for Halloween,” Tyler exclaimed. Nothing like adolescent honesty to keep you grounded. Taught the bulk of my last class with purpose.
Talked with more deliberation. Made goofy faces at kids who disrupted. Pranced around my room when stressed.
Who cares what adults think when you’re rocking the Vill vibe? All in all it was a fun experiment that took way too much money. But I have a newfound appreciation for the role clothing plays in how we carry ourselves.
The flat cap made me feel taller.
Literally walked with better posture while wearing that cap. The velvet blazer opened my mind to being more artistic.
Wearing that priest shirt made me slow down and think. Dressing like a killer made me want to steal the stapler. I’m back to my typical rotation of target polos and Kohl’s sale jumpers.
Kept a few fun pieces from each character, though. Flat cap lives on my dresser for days I need a confidence boost. The velvet blazer is going in my “special” rotation for parent meetings and teacher conferences.
Wouldn’t wear the priest collar ever again (blasphemy, I know) but God bless America and her freedom of religion we don’t have to. Tossled the ugly ass moustache in the trash where it belonged once day 5 was over. TLDR; Clothes Matter.
Wear cool ones.
