Flair

Looking like roadkill at the end of a 12-hour late shift. But check out my flair!
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Back in high school, I worked as a server at the Hard Rock Cafe Singapore. The male servers got to wear black pants and polo shirts. The female servers got to wear super-short white dresses with ruffled aprons. In Singapore, we called them pinafores. In the U.S., we woulda called them shirts. Or sexual harassment lawsuit-magnets. And to make it even better, we were required to adorn our lawsuit-magnets with flair. Lots of flair.
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Our flair consisted primarily of HRC guitar and memorabilia pins, but really, any sort of pin would do. So, I used my flair as a means of putting my super-enlightened, very mature 18-year-old views out into the world. Here were a few of my favorites:

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Ah, sweet folly of youth! If I had to wear flair now, I might wear something like this:
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Or maybe this:
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Or even this:
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Hmmmm... It's not as catchy as an oath to injure someone's privates, I suppose. Perhaps that's why moms don't sport flair.

Note added 11/10: A couple of readers have asked me why I still had all this flair. Was it in a scrapbook? Did it suddenly manifest on my doorstep in a fit of nostalgia-induced magic? Nope, the answer is it was in a box of my belongings from high school that my mom found while cleaning out her house. There were some other interesting items in that box, too, among them the dress I wore to my senior prom. It was a design of my own - strapless, floor length, slit to the hips on both sides, and made of black velvet trimmed with gold plastic beads - yes, gold plastic beads. Oh, and it had matching fingerless opera-length gloves, also black velvet with the gold beads. What was I thinking?? I guess it's a good thing I never went into fashion design.