What Not to Wear

Tight jeans and wellies? No. But if not, why not? What can an architect wear, bearing in mind all the different roles we play?

Consider for a moment, a normal day in the life of Alice.

8.30am (earlier in the summer - I tend to hibernate in the winter).

Switch on computer, still chewing a bit of breakfast toast and jam. Go through all the messages. Does it matter what I am wearing? No, as no-one can see me down the telephone or through the computer. Jeans, faded sweatshirt and slippers are the norm; with loo-brush hair and no socks. Comfy, slutty and absolutely no effort expended.

9.30 am

Time to visit a prospective client. On goes the client-impressor clothes, the posh, shiny boots, the black, pinstriped Gap trousers, the white embroidered blouse I got three years ago from Next and of course, the black jumper. On top of that, my smart black jacket. I complete the outfit with a clipboard, pen and black, Architect On Site shoulder bag. I wash the car. Nice and shiny, but not too flashy, if you know what I mean.

One thing I am always aware of is that seeing a male client on my own carries certain risks. I am as careful as I can be, but make sure I look smart but not in any way provocative - no tight trousers, no make up, poloneck jumper or shirt well done up without a hint of cleavage, smart and rather severe jacket (or coat, if it's cold). So far, I have only had a very few uncomfortable moments, and have managed to extricate myself without being seriously mauled. A cold, slightly arrogant and professional manner usually helps in these circumstances.

11.30 am

Time for the site inspection - the building has been topped out and I must inspect the roof tiling. I know it is going to be muddy, it is raining and I will have to climb a ladder and crawl through a window opening to get to the first floor. I pull off posh trousers and jacket, and don black jeans (baggy ones, not tight, please note), a heavy waterproof coat, my wipe-clean shoulder bag and gloves. Once there, I take off the posh boots and put on my huge, heavy and filthy site boots with the steel toecaps; the ones you cannot drive a car whilst wearing. On top of the coat goes a fluorescent tabard; a hard hat completes the rather fetching ensemble.

Many years ago, as a baby architect, I was visiting a site with an older colleague during the builders' lunch break. It wasn't our site, but my colleague had a crate of beer for the builders, a gift from a grateful client they finished working for the month before. We were offered tea and mince pies (it was near Christmas), and settled down on an assortment of chairs in the warm, comfortable, steamy mess room. It was actually the front room of a very large building in the city centre, in the process of being renovated and turned into offices, and it had a huge fireplace, all ornate curly stone and a vast, black, spiky grate and dog. The builders had lit a fire, using offcuts of timber, to warm the room and it was at once soporific, very cosy and difficult to leave. Yes, it was freezing outside, and we had spent the morning taking levels on a vast area of broken concrete, soon to be new apartments, not far away. We were in no hurry. Both of us were wearing the usual site gear as described above and were thoroughly muddy and dishevelled.

Half way through the second mince pie, a young woman came in, looking like a page from Vogue. She was wearing a very smart coat that is like a cloak (don't ask me what they are called) with a brooch fastening at the front; a shining fall of polished hair and high heeled boots. She was an architectural technician, and was followed by the architect, a ginger, pallid fop in tan cords and long black coat. Silence fell. The foreman lumbered to his feet, wiping his hands on his trousers, before leaving the room with them.

Ten minutes later they were back, covered in muck and dust, the woman looking like a frightened hare. Her boots were filthy and there was a great splat of mud up her front. She had fallen over whilst being told by the foreman to get her site boots on. Everyone gaped at her and shifted uncomfortably. I stifled a laugh - the contrast in so short a time was extraordinary. She fled in the wake of the architect, almost in tears and dropping bits of paper on the way. One young bricklayer carefully gathered them up and left them on the table. 'She'll learn, this time, I'm sure...' he muttered. Apparently it wasn't the first time she had arrived in completely unsuitable clothes. So there is the lesson - dress for the job.

12.30 pm

Soaked, cold, dirty and knackered, I am back in the office with a mountain of paperwork to fire at the builders I have just seen. Throw off the wet jeans and put on posh trousers again - I have to see a colleague later and although he would quite understand me wearing jeans, they are just covered in red brick dust and wet as well.

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As you can see, dear reader, I have changed my clothes three times, and it is only just lunchtime. I have to be all things, smart, workmanlike, professional, ready to climb scaffolding, stand in the wet and cold, meet new clients, meet colleages and sit at a desk all in one day. You may have noticed that the one thing I havn't mentioned amongst all the clothing is a skirt.

Well, no. Try climbing scaffolding in one. Or standing around in the horizontal sleet, trying to take measurements. Or keeping a male client's eyes on your face, rather than your legs or chest. There is no place for a skirt in Alice's world!