Last summer I worked full time in my dad’s law office as a file clerk. Law offices are notorious for being ultra-professional, and his practice was no exception. Although my dad isn’t necessarily a stickler about attire, he requires professional dress wear, and his older partners expect a certain standard more business than casual.

I don’t necessarily fit into this criterion, or office environment in general. Almost all of the clothes I own cost me less than five dollars from a thrift store, I have a nose piercing, and threw out my razor and deodorant half way through last spring semester. If I’m not wearing Birkenstocks, either I’m barefoot, or its snowing out. I expected to come home after my semester for a month or two of lazy beach days and thrift excursions, however I couldn’t pass up the chance to make a few extra dollars when my dad offered to employ me.

Although my parents weren’t outright opposed to my new “look” coming home from college, I could tell they were a bit shocked at the first glance of my unshaved legs and underarms. I willingly admit, when I first stopped shaving, I would have moments of panic when I unassumingly glanced in the mirror and caught sight of my hairy pits; the initial shock subsiding after realizing it was intentional. It’s understandable for my parents to have had the same reaction, and in no time, my “free spirited” self soon became the running joke of the family.

However, the acceptance was short lived with my father, as he explained if I worked for him I would have to look the part. It was the unspoken assumption that I would have to shave, throw on some makeup, and borrow nice clothes from my mom. I debated if I could get away with wearing long pants and sleeved shirts every day to cover the unruly hair, but realized this meant I wouldn’t be able to wear many of the professional blouses, dresses, or skirts, out of my mom’s work wardrobe. Thankfully, my nose piercing was much less noticeable when I switched it to a small stud, so that wasn’t deemed too problematic.

I didn’t want to think my dad was being uptight, sexist, or unfair with his standards. I knew that his partners would have a cow if they caught site or scent of my, god forbidden, eau natural limbs or crevices. And if I were to come into the sight of a client, I should spare my father and his practice the embarrassment of looking unkempt. I didn’t want to label him or his partners as being discriminant, but something didn’t feel right standing in the shower the night before my first day; my sister’s razor in hand, hacking away at the semester’s worth thicket I had lovingly cultivated.

I think the standards were different because I was my father’s daughter. It was as if, because he had “authority” over me, my personal choices would be an indirect reflection of his guidance and parenting. It’s weird to think that because he’s my dad I made the exceptions, however if I were employed by anyone else, I would have strong objections to them implying I would have to alter my appearance. Conversely, if an employee of my father felt as if their look was being questioned or scrutinized by the firm, this could be considered appearance discrimination (not yet illegal, but still unacceptable).

Since I was family, I didn’t feel it was my place to impose my lifestyle onto his office culture, and it really wasn’t a huge deal to get rid of a little hair. However, looking back, I shouldn’t have had to compromise by physically altering my appearance. I could understand dressing more professional, and looking presentable, but I’m now not sure how closely leg hair is related to these standards.