Yesterday I was sporting a rather fetching, rather large hole in the inner thigh of my pantyhose, up about 4 inches from my knee. I didn’t notice it until I got into the parking garage, and it definitely wasn’t worth the drive home to change. So unintentionally, I rocked the derelicte, sexytrampy look all day at work, then at dinner, then to Actor’s Theatre, and then back the 7 or 8 blocks to the garage where I parked that morning. I never expected to make a lot of money in AmeriCorps, but my clothes are falling apart and I’m actually starting to look like a hobo.

Our boss told us pretty early on that as long as we looked presentable, she didn’t care what we wore, but I spend almost all my day outside the office, and I can’t in good conscience represent our organization in jeans and a mostly-clean hoodie. It’s not that I don’t own business clothes, but about the time my wardrobe was ready for an upgrade, I quit my decent-paying job at UofL to join AmeriCorps. I didn’t expect nonprofit capacity building to necessitate so many pairs of dress pants or fancy shit-kickers. I need to get my ass to the mall.

In retrospect, parking 8 blocks away from the theatre wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Particularly on the return trip at 10pm, particularly wearing a mini skirt and a gaping hole in my tights. But I survived; I’m a strong, independent lady… albeit with questionable judgment at times. It’s frustrating to have to sacrifice safety for the sake of independence. Granted, they’re not mutually exclusive, but it’s a calculated risk and I hate that it’s even an issue. I think our society is tougher for men in a lot of really restrictive ways, but when it comes to traveling alone—be it walking 8 blocks in downtown Louisville or hopping the trains across the UK—guys have it way easier.