When I told my friends I’d landed a job in Canary Wharf they couldn’t help but laugh.
For context, Canary Wharf is a jungle of high-rises, expensive eateries and gimmicky pop-ups. There is no shortage of things to do. And yet, the area somehow lacks character. Reviews on Trustpilot herald it as “the cleanest and safest place in London”. But Canary Wharf’s hyper-professional sheen makes me feel uneasy.
This financial district is one of the places in London you would least expect to find me. Nothing about my personality, my wardrobe, my lifestyle—or even my core values—aligns with its corporate veneer. I loathe the pretensions of the business world, where plain English is littered with meaningless acronyms and buzzwords like “circle back”, “BAU” and “synergy”. As someone who values authenticity above almost all else, Canary Wharf and its overlords are a total affront.
Perhaps this is why I made the ill-advised decision to get a heart-shaped gem glued to my right incisor less than 48 hours before I was due to set foot in the new office. Before starting my new, hybrid role where I am expected to be physically present three times a week, I felt a tinge of anxiety over how I would “show up” as my full self to work while maintaining a degree of professionalism. Until now, I’ve worked mostly remote jobs where my lilac, bedazzled Juicy Couture velour bottoms pass for a “uniform”.
For my first day in my new office, I wore a white shirt with puffy short sleeves under a lilac houndstooth sweater vest and a mid-length, pastel-purple skirt with pink heart-shaped pockets stitched into it. I accessorised with a pink pearl necklace, white lace socks and shoes that were half trainer, half ballet-flat. I was happy with the look; I’d put together an office appropriate, formal silhouette, but had swapped monochromatic neutrals for colours that are much more “me”.
While I believe very strongly in the importance of self-expression, I also understand (and respect) the boundaries of professional spaces. Yes, I want to show up as my full self to work, but that doesn’t mean wearing what I would normally wear at home (too sloppy) or to the club (too slutty). In recent years, gen Z women have faced scrutiny over the “office-siren” aesthetic that entails mini-skirts, stockings, sinched waists and plenty of accessories. It’s worth noting that this aesthetic was also once referred to as “corporate fetish”.
Now, I am the last person to slut shame anyone or to tolerate any manifestations of sex-negativity. But I can see how this trend may have caused issues in the workplace. Many of these women were wearing iterations of a power suit, but with short skirts and a cropped blazer—a scanty sibling of the 1980s original. It is naive (and somewhat self-centred) to believe that you should be able to wear whatever you want, regardless of setting, circumstance and audience. You wouldn’t wear white to a wedding, or sequins to a funeral.
How women dress for work is still, sadly, politicised—women are judged and criticised for how they look, regardless of what they wear. Gen Z women are right to challenge this kind of sexism and to demand that women aren’t measured as professionals by the length of their skirts. But by my own estimation the “office siren trend” fails to pass the most basic fashion test: are you dressing for the occasion? Where miniskirts and low-cut blouses aren’t appropriate workwear for women, neither are shorts nor vests for men.
This is why I am pursuing a balanced approach to my office wardrobe. So far, I’ve received nothing but compliments on how I bring “so much colour into the office”—brightening people’s day with the flash of my bejewelled smile.
We can “serve cunt” in the workplace without committing HR violations. A tooth gem feels like a very small act of aesthetic rebellion in the grey cityscape that is Canary Wharf— a glimmer of personality in a sea of suits.
