Suits.

Stuffed suits. Pin striped suits. Business suits. Power suits. Penguin suits.

Corporate uniforms.

Boys together in gentleman’s clubs.

Power. Control.

Management by the application of… image.

Or do I make too much of this?

Tomorrow I am going to a meeting in Lochgilphead for Social Work and Health managers, which is to discuss some governance issues thrown up by a redesign of Mental Health services (get the language there- ‘governance’ and ‘redesign’.) I will not wear a suit. I reckon I will be in a minority of perhaps, one.

Informality of dress seems to be trendy in some quarters. It is strange to me that within my social work department, things have gone entirely the other way for managers at least. The women, perhaps surprisingly, seem to escape this pressure for the most part.

Another redesign process recently replaced whole swathes of managers. The new folk often do not live in Argyll- they have not chosen to live and contribute to the communities they serve. That is not criticism- but it is just different.

For people like me, who try to find a way to carry that salt and light thing into the places I inhabit, the suits just seem to get in the way…

They seem like a barrier- a way to create distance between people.

I find myself at odds with the world about me… and the visible sign of this comes in the form of a table surrounded by men in dark suits.

I can see the point of this at times- the management thing- distance is sometimes required. But for me, this non-suit wearing has become my little point of rebellion, owing much to a lack of comfort with the work culture of my organisation- which at times seems highly toxic.

It is also how I choose to express something of my individuality- and my spirituality. I may yet be instructed to suit up-

But for now, the only suit I will wear regularly…

Is my birthday suit.