Becky Mollenkamp

At least a few days a week, I wear jeans to work. Sometimes they have holes in them. Usually they are paired with a t-shirt. I wear heels when I feel like it, but often I just slip on moccasins. Other things to know about me: I can be snarky, flirty, and off-color, both in person and on my (very) public Twitter account; I’m super social but I despise talking on the phone; today I got to work at 7:30 am but sometimes I just need to sleep in and don’t make it until nearly 10; oh, and I adore my dogs so much that going home at lunch to let them out is a priority.

So, does that make me unprofessional? Unhirable?

I’ve had this discussion many times in the past year. One good friend gets offended when people wear jeans to the office or to work-related events. It’s disrespectful and unprofessional, she says. Most career-focused web sites I searched today advise against wearing jeans to work. The only exception is “casual Friday,” but only if allowed and only if the jeans basically look like slacks.
–>Think American employers take jeans too seriously? Try Australia, where this guy was fined $1400 for wearing ‘em.

My anti-denim friend also has two Twitter accounts—one under her real name and another not linked to her name that she uses for thoughts she wouldn’t want current or future employers to see. She’s one of dozens of people I know who use this social-media strategy. Others make their accounts private and only allow friends to read. Others have only one account and keep it strictly professional (ie, boring). Thousands of articles like this one have been written warning about career fallout for being too open on Twitter.

So, what the hell is wrong with me? Why do I wear what makes me feel comfortable and say what I really think? This tweet from Josh Fleming sums it up: “Real success is only realized when you are able to completely be yourself on the path to success.” I simply can’t be happy unless I’m authentically me—ripped jeans, naughty tweets, and all.

That’s an idealistic notion, say the people who advise me to tone down my tweets and put on a suit. What’s funny to me, however, is those folks are just like me. We’ve gotten drunk together, told each other inappropriate jokes, and commiserated about how stifling cubicle life can be. Oh, and they all tell me I’m entertaining on Twitter.

Maybe I am idealistic, but I believe it’s possible to be professional and be yourself. I may wear ripped jeans and curse on Twitter, but I also work my ass off. My bosses, coworkers, and I are all incredibly productive, despite the fact that most of us frequently wear t-shirts and speak our minds on social media. I also run a freelance marketing business and volunteer for the local homeless shelter. I work hard and play harder.

I love my current job. But someday I’d like to be a COO or a strategic consultant because I know my real talent lies in helping others execute their visions. Some people say I’m limiting my future opportunities by not playing the professional game today. Maybe. But would those same people ever encourage a friend to pretend to be someone she isn’t just to please a boyfriend? No way. Why then is fakery okay (and even encouraged) in a professional relationship?

Believe it or not, I actually used to preach to others about the importance of professionalism. I spent my frist decade out of college on a career path that included wearing suits and brown-nosing my bosses. With each rung I climbed up the corporate ladder, I grew more miserable. Spending 40-plus hours a week being “Professional Becky” nearly killed the real me. I could have become a “somebody” at a major publishing company, but I finally realized it just wasn’t worth it.

So, 2 years ago I decided to be myself—all the time, in every way. That meant major changes to every area of my life. It has also meant I now have endless buckets of happiness. Just as I’d never sacrifice that happiness for a man, I’m no longer willing to forfeit my authenticity for a job either. I simply wouldn’t want to work for someone who’d ask me to.

Call me crazy, but I’m going to keep believing that being my true self will take me exactly where I’m meant to go. And I happen to think that where I’m headed is the shit.