Through the ages, office workers have dreaded such things as performance evaluations or no coffee in the break room, but nothing has caused more psychological upheaval than ordering corporate logo apparel. Funny thing is, it never really is the company’s fault, but it has been said (and, I should note, not by Albert Einstein) that insanity is defined by doing the same thing repeatedly expecting different results. When it comes to office wear, it’s always a disaster.
Earlier this year the decision was made to offer a free shirt to be worn for a special event. This naturally comes with a planning phase in which one must determine how to get the sizes for everybody who wants to participate. The answer lies in having each person submit their preference using a series of numbers and letters which amount to nothing like what our people resemble in real life. We have countless women like Olive Oyl and men like Bluto in our office; some with figures like Dolly Parton and others like Dwayne Johnson. They may wear one manufacturer’s this size and another’s that size, yet they have to guess at what size they should put down. It then gets compiled and counted and sent to the clothier.
So at least a few people see that our office has such a mashup of sizes, there is no definition of what one can classify as “normal,” nor can there be any hope of getting the sizes of the clothes right based solely on a form.
My idea of the perfect logo apparel ordering experience is that the apparel company comes to the office with their full variety of sizes in sample shirts; set up a fitting room and hand the participants the best estimated size to try on, then make a note themselves on the order sheet of what size to produce for each person.
For some bizarre reason, companies that sell logo apparel to businesses seem to have a totally different sizing system than the rest of the civilized world. A women’s size Small should fit an adult, not an eight-year-old boy who is a few weeks short of his growth spurt. Also, as much as we hate to go there, it must be said that larger sizes should be better proportioned so they don’t look like couture by Omar the Tent-Maker (one of my mother’s favorite go-to phrases on the subject of plus-size clothes). A size 5XL should not be two side seams and no proper draping, whether it’s for a woman or man.
Dealing with giving people clothes goes into the dark woodsy realm of body types and self-image issues, which I will mercifully not detail here.
I have been through ordering polo shirts at least twice, and jackets once. This time some people were volundrafted for the duty of making sure everybody got their shirts when delivered, and I was also volunteered under related duties. I went with the volundraftee to pick the shirts up from our mailroom. They came in boxes too large to carry, so we piled them on a cart towering over our heads by at least a foot, and borrowed an entire conference room to handle the distribution. It turned out the manufacturer sized everything a bit small, so the order was up-sized by one. Mostly. Once the misfires in substitutions were sorted out, we begged the order coordinator for extra odd sizes and sent word to everybody to come pick them up, and a whole new adventure began.
There is nothing like an office environment when something is handed out for free. In all fairness, most people did not look the gift horse in the mouth, but the shirts were cut for women and men while the placket (where the buttons are set on the right side for men and left for women) were apparently done unisex. Why will remain a mystery. Despite a few grumbles, we accepted the gesture with grace and, for those whose shirts offered a snug fit, the resignation to sucking in during wear.
It will be interesting to see what the shirts look like when we wear them on the same day, and the aftermath the first time they are washed. Maybe this time will be the last. Next time, I’m going to strongly suggest we stick with ball caps.
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