I should have felt a breeze

Back in March, you might recall, I quit my newspaper job and made plans to move to Boston and freelance full time. We made the move in April, and soon an important date emerged on my calendar: I’d start it by having breakfast with a magazine editor, to talk about a job I was a candidate for; then I'd get coffee with another editor to talk about a cool freelance project I was being considered for. Both went well, I thought. We had good conversations, both were exciting possibilities, and I ended the day energized by what the future could bring. That night, as I paced our bedroom and described the day, my girlfriend stopped me cold.

“Wait,” she said. “Were you wearing those pants today?”

I looked down. They were fine pants -- not brand new, but professional enough. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Turn around,” she said.

I did, and she guffawed. As it turns out...

...I had a giant rip in the pants, right at my ass, allowing for a clear look at my boxers. (That picture, which I took a few minutes after this episode, makes it also appear as if I was wearing pants 12 sizes too big. I assure you, it’s just the angle; I at least got that right.) I fell into a panicked silence, trying to remember if I ever walked in front of either editor. Surely I walked in front of hundreds, possibly thousands of Bostonians that day, but the two that mattered most, I think, were spared the unwelcome insight, so to speak. A relief, but still: Dress for success, this was not.

But as it turns out, the day was fruitful: Two weeks ago, I left full-time freelancing and started as an associate editor at Boston magazine. I was really hoping to get the gig, and it’s already been extremely rewarding. (It also explains why this blog hasn’t been updated as frequently in the last two weeks, something I’ll have to figure out how to fix). I also got the freelance gig, which I’ll talk more about when it gets printed.

I consider myself lucky. Next time I have important meetings, I’ll be sure to give my clothing a good look-over. And at the very least, I’ll be spared those pants: They went straight into the garbage.

Posted by Jason Feifer at June 4, 2007 08:21 AM