Anna Preps for B School

Shortly after my first day at RKG, I was talking with a coworker, Brian. He said of meeting me: "At first I thought, 'man, she seems really classy - then you sent that email ranting about Cleveland sports.'"

Let me start by saying I don't know why classiness and ranting about Cleveland sports are mutually exclusive. Now...

Tomorrow is the first day of orientation. Alas, the late fall/winter/spring/most of summer of Anna is drawing to a close. Don't panic, I still have a bike trip through French wine country before the reality of grad school hits (which I still don't think will be a harsh reality).

Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though. Orientation. A chance to revamp my persona and define myself however I please. I could be the savvy, calculating tycoon. I could be the edgy chick with the leather coat and distant look in her eyes. I could be the quietly intelligent woman oozing sophistication. Guys - I could have mystique!*

What are the steps of preparation for such a pivotal point, the beginning of my MBA journey? We are all told to read inspirational books, map our strengths and weaknesses, write a statement of purpose, but there's so much more.

1. Wardrobe. You may not know this, but I won best dressed in high school. Of course, the organizer of senior superlatives was also in the running for the award and came in a distant (I assume) second. She decided that both first and second should be in the superlative pictures, clearly losing the essence of the word superlative, and conveniently forgot to tell me - and only me - the day of pictures. I was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Joke's on her, though, because I rocked those sweatpants ironically and have clearly moved past the injustice.

Working as the only female at a tech company took a toll on my fashion output, so I reassessed my closet and added a few token pieces, including a blazer, a red dress, a couple pencil skirts and blouses that don't reveal pit stains, casually chic tanks, and a hot pink mini skirt because why not. No pants suits. I do not and will never believe in them.

2. Hair color. My hues have spanned the spectrum: auburn, bleach blonde, natural (for about a month when I was experimenting with fiscal responsibility), brunette, deep brunette, warm golden highlights. For years I have adhered to the theory that people take me more seriously as a brunette because the combination of the blonde and my laugh make for an overwhelming impression. However, I think I've reached a point in my career where I have proven my intellect beyond the color of my hair, and I've reached a point in my life where the perception of others is less burdensome. So the question becomes, in what color do I feel most like myself? Is there really any contest? Blonde. Bright, glorious blonde.

3. My part. Perhaps a bigger decision than the color of my hair was the decision to switch the part from right to left. My brother-in-law, Will, made me aware of valid research that concludes the side on which one parts his/her hair has the power to impact success. I've come this far with my hair parted on the wrong side - imagine the power and prestige that lies ahead!

Emanating power.

4. Phase defining scent. Another scientific theory. Smells trigger memory. Angel takes me back to the high school gym. Happy takes me back to summers teaching tennis. What will harken memories of grad school years from now?

This decision is not one to be taken lightly, and I have literally spent hours seeking phase defining scents with my sister, Lydia, who first introduced me to their importance. Unfortunately, when I walked into the Nordstrom fragrance section, the scents were behind counters, meaning my quest was dictated by another. Were these women capable of leading me to a scent that frolicked upon my nostrils, one that was neither too sweet nor too floral, nor too MBA*? I had no choice but to believe they were.

Twenty minutes and ten perfumes later, between which I profusely apologized for taking so long and secretly wished I could try fifty more, I had narrowed the choice to two. From there, I had to employ bipartisan expertise. I spritzed one on each arm, picked up two mascaras so I could get Lancome's free gift, and sought my mother and sister for a dual arm sniff test. They were torn. While the first had a better initial scent, the second lingered. In the end, I went with my gut and chose the "elegant" fragrance, apparently also just chosen by a woman who was about to get married. I don't know why the salesperson thought it necessary to tell me this, but I suppose that sounds more appealing than if it had been chosen by a woman who was about to work the street corner. When I asked the price, it was obviously the most expensive, but I plan to recoup those costs with whatever job this degree lands me. Clearly, this is an investment in my future.

5. Locate Crossfit, tennis courts, and radio presets. I'm about to encounter a lot of change. For starters, I have to wake up tomorrow at a specific time. I will need an aggressive, athletic outlet for any buildup of angst, and of course, I will need to be able to jam out in the car. Thankfully, there is no shortage of athletes in Ann Arbor, and since it's a Midwest town near Detroit, there is no shortage of country or hip hop radio stations. There's even a station dedicated to throw back tunes, playing Juvenile and NWA all day. Done and done.

6. Set some social ground rules. 1) Don't bring up embarrassing stories about bodily functions or boobs for at least six weeks. 2) Obey rule number one. Even if the story is really funny. 3. No tequila. Just. No. 4. Obey rule number three. Even if the tequila is really good and lime and salt are involved. 5. Smile.

I'm pretty confident I have covered all my bases. Now if you'll excuse me, I think have to read some case study for tomorrow.

*Or I could be the one giggling when the professor says, "The British currency has been falling since the Brexit. How do they get it up again?" because she definitely could have said that.

*my mother told me she didn't want me to get a scent that was too MBA, which Julie and I determined must mean musky.