Wardrobe Wars: Jane of the Concrete Jungle

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, by Gabrielle Zevin, is one of my favorite books.  So I was excited to read another Zevin novel, and the one I chose was wonderful too, although in a different way.  (Also, the cover is cool.)  Young Jane Young is the story of a political intern who has an affair with a married congressman and how it upends her life.  "Ugh, sounds gross," you may be thinking, or maybe even, "Ooh, juicy, bring it on!"  (Hey, I don't know what you're into.)  But Young Jane Young isn't a salacious soap opera.  It's a thoughtful -- and yes, sometimes funny -- look at how society often paints women as villains, even when it's the men who are wrong.  Zevin tells Jane from the point of view of five women, and it isn't until the end that we hear from the intern herself.  On her very first day, she struggles to choose a professional outfit.  Her conundrum is relatable and angsty and sets the scene for the cautionary tale she becomes.

"You lay three options on your extralong twin bed: a black stretch crepe cocktail dress, a navy blue summer-weight wool dress that you fear might be snug as you haven't tried to zip it up in more than two years, and a white blouse and gray kilt combo.

If you choose the black dress, turn to page 4.

If you choose the blue dress, turn to page 5.

If you choose the white blouse and kilt, turn to page 11.

You choose the white blouse because you think it's the most professional, but then, when you put it on, the buttons strain across your breasts, creating eye-shaped gaps.  You don't have time to change.  You don't want to be late.  If you hunch your shoulders forward, the eyes mainly close.  . . . You sloppily apply red lipstick to your mouth.  You are not good with makeup because you rarely wear any.  When you went to your prom, your mom put on your makeup for you.  Yes, you know how that makes you sound.  You and your mom are close.  She's probably your best friend though you are not hers.  Her best friend is Roz Horowitz, who is funny and, in the way of many funny people, occasionally mean." (208-209).

The intern is vulnerable.  She's not some tramp out to trap a sugar daddy; she's a clueless coed who doesn't know how to dress.  So later, when her supervisor pulls her aside and tells her that her outfit is inappropriate, it's all the more wrenching.  And then, when she bursts into tears in the break room and the congressman comforts her, well, it's pretty clear who's out to trap whom.

I think Zevin tells us all this at the end so that for most of the story we see the intern through the world's judgy eyes.  By the time we find out how everything really went down, we're as jaded as everyone else, making the impact of the truth even greater.  Also, the Choose Your Own Adventure style, which Zevin carries throughout the intern's narrative, is genius.  It shows that the intern has choices but that she doesn't always make the right ones.  Because she bases everything on the sometimes compromised, sometimes simplistic moral code she grew up with, making her ill-equipped to deal with adult situations.  (To give you an idea, her dad cheats on her mom and she thinks that Belle should've picked Gaston instead of the Beast).  She's an idealist masquerading as a cynic who thinks that women have all the tools they need to do battle with men -- even when those men are older and more powerful.  So she has to learn that men and women aren't treated equally before she realizes that they should be treated equally and that that's what feminism really means.  It sounds straightforward but isn't.  Especially to those coming of age in "modern" times when everything seems evolved and okay on the surface.

Still, the intern may be down, but she isn't out.  Life may have knocked her around, but it's also made her resilient.  And so after we see her fall apart, it's favorite-song-on-the-radio inspiring to see her start to put herself back together.

When the intern is older -- and no longer an intern -- she goes to an important event in an outfit that makes her feel confident:

"You put on a red suit.  You spend no time making this decision.  You don't even consider wearing anything else.  The fit is perfect and you know it will photograph well.  You're older now, and you know what looks good on you." (293)

I love the symbolism in this.  It's no-nonsense and neat, a nonsexist way to show how clothes make the woman.

Finally, Jane has arrived.