"Out, damned spot! out, I say!" - Lady Macbeth
Maybe I ought to want to hide my hands after a day of work. More often than not they are color stained. I wear gloves, but sometimes the color transfers, my gloves tear, or I clean bowls with bare hands. Truthfully, I actually like seeing color stains on my fingers...it reminds me that I was immersed in creativity.
Unlike a mechanic or pressroom operator, the telltale signs of my job rarely lasts beyond the day, so it's rather easy to resist the urge to scour and scrub until my hands are raw. Bearing the evidence of a good day's work is something I don't believe anyone should ever make excuses for. If your hands, clothes or shoes collect debris from whatever you do, I say wear it proudly (until you go home and change).
It has been my experience, though I'm not quite sure why or if it's a wide held opinion, that people don't always see what I do as work. Maybe because it's fun. It doesn't look like work...well, not the generally-held-idea-that-work-looks-unpleasant look anyway. Somedays I can't believe I get paid to play with hair either!
Of course, my phone is always going off with client texts, calls and facebook messages, and my back is feeling the wear and tear of long hours standing behind the chair. This is when even I can't deny that what I do is truly work. It might not be saving the world, but the emotional impact a visit to the hair stylist has can uplift someone who does have an occupation of more 'importantance' (and I use that word simply for lack of a better one at the moment).
Simply put, what I do may not have upfront measurability next to some professions, but the ripples of a person having confidence and renewed self-love because they feel good about their appearance is actually pretty huge. Thankfully I am not the type of person who needs others to see what I do as work or important. I love it, color-stained hands and al.
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