The Stripper's Song
I see perfectly poised women who have the unique ability to take something like a plain dress
or suit and make it a fabulous fashion statement by accessorizing with a scarf. They can
actually wear a scarf on one shoulder, walk around the room with such offhand ease, and have
the scarf stay in place the entire evening. I do not possess this talent. On the contrary, my
scarves have a tendency to just "disappear."
I used to teach an evening course entitled, "Successful Sales Skills" at a local
community college. I wanted to emphasize to the class that it was important to project an
aura of power, seriousness and responsibility. I also wanted to make a good impression, so
I wore a business suit and accented it brightly with a beautiful, red, silk scarf (silently
praying the scarf would stay in place). In the first session of this course, we discussed
the importance of proper business behavior, dress and etiquette.
We also discussed things such as avoiding making off-color remarks or jokes and being aware
of image and body language.
Toward the end of the session, I nonchalantly touched the collar area of my suit to be sure
my silk scarf was still in place. With some unease, I felt only my bare neck-my scarf was
gone! I absently patted my neck and shoulder and glanced frantically around the floor for
the bright red scarf, all the while continuing to talk to my students. I thought the class
was completely unaware of my predicament and was not observing my search. Then I glanced
down and saw that the scarf had somehow wiggled its way down inside my suit leaving only a
red silk corner sticking out between the second and third buttons of my jacket. I grabbed
the corner of the scarf furtively with one hand and started pulling it out in short jerks
as I continued to speak. Suddenly one of the men in the class began singing the "Stripper’s
Song" and soon the whole class joined in, laughing at me.
Here we were, talking about the proper business image and behavior and the entire class was
singing the "Stripper’s Song!" I was flushed with humiliation and I felt like hiding
under the big desk in front of the room. My dignity was completely flattened.
Maybe they would just all leave and go home, I thought. My face felt hot. I took a deep breath
and paused for a few seconds to regain my composure, but once I saw the humor in the situation,
I also joined in the laughter. As I laughed with my class about this comical situation, something
powerful happened to me. I learned how to laugh at myself.
In this ever-changing, stressful world, we need to be open and willing to laugh at ourselves.
The grins on my student’s faces were telling me that they identified with distress and they
liked me all the more for laughing with them about it. As the great actress Ethel Barrymore
once said, "You grow up the day you have your first laugh-at yourself." Don’t take
yourself so seriously. Be willing to laugh at yourself.