‘I’m fine,’ she snapped. ‘Actually, I’m not. I’m sure I didn’t get the job. He asked me about my strong suit and I didn’t have an answer.’
‘What? But you’re the second smartest one in the entire family!’
‘Smart is not enough. Apparently it’s about what you wear too, I need a strong suit as well. I’m going to find one.’ She hung up abruptly.
She threw open her wardrobe and examined her clothes. A suit suggested a two-piece. A similarly matched set consisting of a skirt and jacket, or trousers and jacket and perhaps a blouse. Again she was flummoxed, her sister never wore suits. However she was determined and removed every item of clothing, trying them all on, mixing and matching, pacing her room and trying to assess if any of them made her feel any different, made her feel stronger. There was a particular backless red dress that made her feel like standing up straighter, shoulders back, chest out. She wore it to her brother’s wedding and never felt so good. That was the night she met James and had the best sex of her life, but she was not convinced that strong suit equalled best-dirty-sex-of-your-life suit, or that it would be something her new employer would require. And if it was, she wasn’t sure if that made her want to work there more or less.
Her flatmate passed by and noticed the state of the room. She poked her head in.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Do you have a strong suit?’
She paused. ‘My dad says I bring a lot of joy when I leave a room.’ She smiled but was met with a blank stare and so she shrugged and left.
The woman frowned. The entire contents of her wardrobe lay in piles on her floor and bed. She had spent hours meticulously trying on everything, creating an algorithm on her computer which demonstrated how every single item could be worn together. And yet even after six solid hours of trying, she still did not know what her strong suit was.
She grabbed her bag and drove to a department store.
For the next month, she worked her way steadily through every single skirt and trouser suit they had. From ten a.m. until six p.m. and nine p.m. on Thursdays, breaking for an hour at lunch, she employed the services of personal shoppers to bring every available item from the department store to her changing room. There were five levels in the department store. She tried on everything. She even provided them with her phone number and email address for when new stock arrived. In the evenings she worked on a case study that she’d developed to address the problem. This consisted of an alphabetical list of the thousands of designers the department store stocked, from Acne Studios to Zac Posen. She had trawled through their collections for this season and next, made a note of strong-suit worthy outfits, and made projections of the probability of the inclusion of two-piece trouser and skirt suits in future collections based on their past designs. She had placed her name on waiting lists, and had over a dozen items on hold. At first she felt that a strong suit must be timeless, and not reflect changing fashion trends, but then realized she couldn’t rely on that, and so readjusted her studies. There was so much she didn’t know which caused the case study to grow. She included a mood board of fabrics she favoured, and a special pull-out section detailing which of these suits could be mixed and matched, combining and clashing textures and prints, according to changing fashion trends, in order to build the ideal strong suit which would flatter the proportions of her body.
It was the day after one of these regular days when she had visited the store and held up a changing room for hours, that the Department Store CEO was visiting to conduct inspections and meet with various departments. She overheard the sales staff discussing what to do about their problem customer. Should they ask her to leave the store? Ban her? Warn her? She was using up all of the personal shoppers’ time with a brief for a strong suit that none of them could quite understand, and she had yet to spend any money. Even more troubling, they had discovered a briefcase she had left behind in a fitting room, which had scared the hell out of everyone when security had cleared the floor. The sales assistants huddled around the folder, examining the customer’s private files.
‘Is she a spy for another store?’ one of them asked.
Let’s find out, the other said, lifting the laptop. Her finger hovered over the power button.
The CEO cleared her throat.
They all jumped to attention, surprised to see her at the door and shuffled to gather themselves, stuffing the laptop back in the briefcase.
‘Is this problem customer wearing the clothes before returning them?’ the CEO asked, motioning for them to hand her the briefcase.
‘The clothes don’t leave the shop. She’s not buying anything at all,’ a personal shopper replied. ‘I don’t mind helping somebody but she’s taking time away from others who genuinely want to buy.’
The CEO flipped through a folder of charts, found the mood board, studied it. Her interest piqued, she looked some more. After a moment, she closed the briefcase. ‘I’d like to speak with her,’ the CEO said. ‘Send her to me when she arrives.’
When the woman arrived, at 10 a.m. sharp, the head of security asked her to accompany him to the management level. The woman was startled but complied. Frightened by her treatment, she sat before the CEO and saw the briefcase on the table before them.
‘I’m so sorry for leaving my bag behind, I honestly wasn’t trying to cause a disturbance. I didn’t realize I had forgotten it until late last night. I called the store but it was obviously too late by then, and it was closed. I did leave a message, explaining, in case you were concerned about its contents. I understand the security risks of a bag being left behind.’
‘No need to apologize,’ the CEO said. ‘Though we didn’t power up the laptop, we did have to take a look inside the bag to ensure there was no threat.’
‘Of course,’ the woman looks away, embarrassed.
‘I understand that you’ve been in the store every day for a month, that you’ve tried everything on and haven’t bought anything,’ the CEO said.
‘Is that a crime?’
‘Actually, no. But you do understand how odd it seems to us that you’re not buying anything.’
‘I intend to buy. I’m not wasting your time. Look, I have money, if you don’t believe me.’ She dug in her bag for her wallet and produced it, revealing cash and credit cards.
‘You don’t have to show me that,’ the CEO said gently. ‘But tell me, what exactly are you looking for?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘I won’t judge. You see, the reason I’m asking is because, as the CEO of a chain of six department stores, I worry when a client spends a month trying on everything we have in stock and still can’t find what she’s looking for. If it’s not here then perhaps it’s in New York, or Chicago. Or LA. And if it’s not in any of those stores then perhaps I need to have a talk with our buyers. It bothers me that we have one hundred and fifty thousand square feet of clothes and a very keen customer that we can’t cater to.’
‘Oh,’ the woman says, relieved. ‘Well, this is embarrassing, but perhaps you can help me. I went for a job interview last month. I have a bachelor’s degree in business – I graduated at the top of my class. I also have a PhD in finance, and excellent references. But I didn’t get the job. I should have gotten the job.’
‘Did they comment on your interview attire?’ the CEO asks, trying to understand.
‘No. He asked me what was my strong suit.’ Again the embarrassment, her face flushes. ‘And I told him that I didn’t have one. I’ve never even heard of needing one, but apparently everyone has them. Like it’s a fashion craze that I completely missed out on. So I’ve been here every day trying to find one.’
The CEO sits up, eyes wide, trying to process what she has heard. ‘You have been shopping for a strong suit all this time?’
‘Yes.’
‘These charts and reviews, this mood board, this is all to combine every item we have in order for you t
o build your strong suit?’
‘Yes,’ she says quietly. ‘I thought maybe if I put the right combination together, then I would just know as soon as it was on. But I’m not sure that’s the case now.’
The CEO starts to smile. ‘And tell me, now that you can’t find a strong suit to wear, are you going to give up?’
‘Give up? Of course not. Here, let me show you …’ The woman reaches for the briefcase and pulls out her laptop. She boots up the detailed charts and entries she has made in the course of the past month, launching into a complex analysis of the various designers, styles and trends affecting women’s suits. She points out some of the surprising facts she has gleaned about sizing and the pricing. ‘I wait for new stock each week. If the incoming collections aren’t right, perhaps I’ll be more suited to Spring/Summer. I’ll keep returning until I find my strong suit. Though perhaps not as regularly …’ She gives a sheepish smile. ‘I agree my routine has been a bit obsessive. Can you help me?’
The CEO’s head is swimming with ideas. ‘I need you on my team.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I need you to work with me.’
The woman is shocked. ‘You would like me to work for you even though I don’t have a strong suit?’
The CEO smiles. ‘You spent every day from ten a.m. to closing for an entire month, searching the racks for a strong suit. Your research and analysis have been more thorough than anything my own staff has ever prepared. My dear, I would say you found your strong suit.’
‘I did?’
‘You never give up, do you?’
‘Of course not, but where do you think my strong suit is? Is it on the fourth floor in contemporary? If so, is it the navy blue with the pink threading, because that one I tried on five times, there was something about it.’ The woman’s eyes are bright with an inkling that she is close.
‘No,’ the CEO says. ‘You’re wearing it. It’s part of you. When people use the term “strong suit” they refer to a long suit that contains high cards, the cards we hold in the palms of our hands that can help us win.’
The woman frowns. ‘No, I’m sure that my job interview had nothing to do with a card game.’
The CEO smiles. ‘Also known as a strong point, a personal strength, one’s most highly developed characteristic talent, skill or forte.’
The realization dawns on the woman, and the relief that the veil of strong suit secrecy has not been a conspiracy against her quickly turns to embarrassment.
‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ the CEO says quickly. ‘I’m glad you didn’t get the last job you interviewed for, because then I would never have met you. You have displayed your personal strength in bucketloads. Your tenacity is your strong suit and it would be an honour if you joined my team.’
She extends her hand and the woman looks at it in surprise, beaming at this unexpected turnaround of events.
‘Well?’ the CEO urges. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think I’m going to play my hand,’ she says, smiling, reaching out and shaking the CEO’s hand.
The government’s most powerful organ is a cabinet that exercises executive authority over the country. The country’s inhabitants are comprised of both men and women; however, the government and its cabinet are made up of men only. Two hundred male politicians sit in the national parliament, fifteen of whom hold ministerial positions in the cabinet. These fifteen men meet every day to discuss the important issues of the country and it is on one of these days that the head of government’s top advisor, Number One, enters the cabinet meeting room carrying a survey.
‘I have a survey of great importance. It appears that a great number of women in this country are distressed about our leadership.’
The men listen as he explains how the survey was conducted, translated and analysed by more men in various government offices.
‘What is the women’s problem?’ asks the boss.
‘They express disappointment that there are no women in the cabinet, or in the government as a whole, who can speak for them.’
Some of the men laugh.
‘But we speak for everyone,’ one says. ‘We act on all of our citizens’ behalf.’
‘But they say we don’t act on their behalf. And that in fact we don’t listen to their concerns.’
‘Don’t listen to what? Who is saying something? Is there a report I missed?’ the boss demands.
‘This survey was drawn specifically from the country’s female population. Or most of it.’
‘What of the female population who don’t object?’
‘They object to the disgruntled women, they believe they are trying to be like men. They wish them to pipe down.’
‘So it is kind of a civil war between the women?’
The cabinet laugh again.
The boss ponders this and studies the pie chart attached to the report. The numbers don’t look good, the grumble percentages are up. Grumble percentages make him feel uncomfortable, especially in surveys of great importance. He’s learned that such surveys are best listened to, and he trusts Number One implicitly.
‘Boss, if I may …’ a cabinet minister speaks up. ‘If there is no woman in the cabinet or in the government, then there are no women issues to speak of. If we allow women to join us then there will suddenly be issues created, plucked out of the blue, willy-nilly.’
Willy-nilly, indeed. A dilemma for sure, when they have so many other more important issues to deal with without adding to their workload.
‘Are we sure this isn’t a trick by the opposition to create another nincompoop distraction?’
‘It was our own survey, boss,’ Number One admits. ‘You asked us to secretly look into voter satisfaction.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t mean ask the women!’ Conscious of having raised his voice, he makes an effort to calm himself. He is the boss for a reason, it is down to him to think and decide. He thinks. He decides. ‘We must act. Send a woman in to us to speak on their behalf and we will listen to what the women have to say.’
An intelligent woman is found, an educated woman. A pretty woman. They all study her appearance, some discreetly, others not.
The woman speaks. For a long time. It seems to go on and on.
The boss frowns and looks around at the others. He feels uncomfortable, off-centre. He takes a sip of water. Is he hearing her correctly? He looks around at his colleagues and sees frowns, looks of concern, some smirks on the faces of his colleagues. Their reactions don’t make him feel any better; he is flummoxed by her.
When the woman stops talking, they all turn to him, creating a pregnant silence. He clears his throat, thanks the woman for her time, and she leaves.
He looks around at everybody. ‘Did any of you understand that?’
They all shake their heads, mumbling and grumbling among themselves, and he can feel their relief that nobody else has understood a word she has said. He is hugely relieved too … it wasn’t just him, which means he hasn’t lost his touch.
‘Why did you send in a woman who can’t speak our national language?’
‘We did, boss. She was speaking our national language, but she was speaking the woman’s version.’
They ponder this.
‘That explains it … I understood the individual words but not the way they were put together. And her tone …’ He notices others shudder. ‘It was unusual.’
‘Shrill,’ he hears someone else mutter.
‘Women should be softer. It isn’t constructive to use such a tone,’ another says.
‘A bit of a know-it-all,’ another says.
‘Yes, boss,’ Number One chimes in, taking notes.
‘So this is how women speak?’ the boss asks.
‘Yes, boss. We believe it’s a different dialect.’
‘And women of our country wish us to speak like this?’
‘There are two things, boss. The women of this country wish you to understand their dialect, and they also wish women who speak this dialect to join
the government so that they can use their own voices.’
‘Why don’t we just get rid of men altogether?’ one man explodes.
‘Settle down now. Women politicians to represent women citizens?’ The boss ponders this. He can see the merits, it would be a way of delegating this extra load of unexpected issues to those who are raising them, but what if they made decisions that the men didn’t agree with, or even worse, didn’t understand?
‘No, boss,’ Number One interrupts his thoughts. ‘The idea would be for women in the government to represent all the country’s citizens, not just women.’
Some laughter and groans.
‘How preposterous! How can they represent men when they are women and speak woman?’ he asks.
‘This is the very point that women raise regarding male politicians, boss.’
A quiet descends on the cabinet.
‘And may I add,’ Number One breaks the silence, ‘it is not just the dialect that is different, it is also their thoughts that differ from ours.’
Grave news indeed. Different ideologies. New voices. A scary prospect for a stable government.
The boss thinks this conundrum through. ‘But how can a woman politician represent a male citizen when she has a different dialect and also thinks differently? No man will fall for this,’ he says, feeling sweat on his brow. ‘The male electorate won’t like it.’
‘Boss, if you look here to this graph, you’ll see that there is a large number of women that also make up the electorate.’
‘Yes, but the male electorate is louder. And because it is louder their thoughts and issues receive larger font treatment in newspaper headlines. I learned this from the editor of our largest publication. They report on more issues relating to men on the most popular pages because they have more male readers and the reason for this is because men’s hands are larger and are better at holding this particular broadsheet.’
‘Boss, we believe women have become adept at holding the same size newspaper, and online media is growing. There are many other news sources now. Headlines and font sizes are not necessarily what matter any more.’
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