Incorporate or in corporate?

Groups of animals go by some funny names. A scurry of squirrels, battery of barracudas, or gaggle of geese all sound silly but a collective of humans is often a corporation.

Corporations are entities unto themselves, but they do require people to run them. From janitor to CEO, all roles require some degree of human input. That’s you and me, sentient meat sacks trying to make sense of the world around us while feeding the beast that feeds us.

Corporate life demands many compromises. Not the least being: turning up in a semi useful state at the office 09:00 every morning, repressing personal opinions that don’t align with HR policy, ignoring all your socio-psycho-neuro-quirks to conform to a company line even when it doesn’t sit well with you personally or professionally, and the knowledge that you are only a number on a balance sheet as far as upper management are concerned. They are all “maaaate” until it’s expedient to drop you like a used burger wrapper.

There are upsides. Regular and consistent pay that you can budget on, paid holidays, sick leave, superannuation, paid training and an easy answer to the inevitable “So, what do you do?” question at social events. Plus, you might get some real burgers at the annual pissup that is the office breakup. Don’t forget that if you get drunk enough to make an idiot of yourself, it will be the sustenance you need to get to the dole shop.

You are what you wear

It’s the uniform bit that gets me most. What’s with this performative BS of being trustworthy only if you wear a suit and/or tie? These are often the worst crooks, stealing from you as they look you in the eye. Without a moral qualm amongst them.

I know it’s a societal convention, but I stand with Zelensky on this fashion choice. A well- fitting T is far more attractive, authoritative and just plain cooler than a crinkly polyester suit straight off the rack.

Every idealist has their line in the sand. Mine is the insistence on the bag of fruit and neck noose.

Standard Western business attire can be avoided if you do your corporate life in the creative fields. I’ve known enough architects in skivvies or bow ties to justify the legion of memes long in circulation. Y’artz peeps prefer colourful scarves or asymmetric hair and we all know that tech crew are rarely seen out of show blacks. Business owners wear what they feel like when they make enough money.

I tried and failed as an entrepreneur. While being your own boss means you can set your own rules like which clothes you do or don’t don, budgets and accounting did my head in.

When ya gotta, ya gotta

My overarching life goal of building a house in the country dictated a compromise at some point. Not being born sucking on a silver spoon, and living hand to mouth while I partied hard, didn’t leave much of a nest egg beyond breakfast googs. The seed capital that funded my business experiment took ten years to get together and only ten months to lose the lot.

So I had to get serious for a few more years. Being on a wage meant I could budget and save properly. Tech skills from rock touring made the transition into theatre (with the long predictable runs) and then corporate theatre technically easy. The hardest part was in the mind.

Ultimately, sucking it up and suiting up paid for my house in the country, from where I am now working while lying on the couch and listening to the ravens squawking outside. In dirty, torn tracksuit pants no less.

Does this mean I won the Game of Life? Hardly. But I get to play it mostly on my own terms and that is the biggest success.

As a young idealist leftie humanist socialist (as I was pigeonholed at 18), corporate world always seemed soul-less, capricious and devoid of any morality. But I wanted some of its output to further my input, as we all do. I hadn’t bargained on meeting some excellent people along the way, all trying to get their slice of the pie too, but I despaired of falling into a socially acceptable but personally unfulfilling career path and waking up in 40 years wondering why I had wasted my life.

The evolving plan was to engage the system only as much as it advantaged me and no more. Get in, get what I want, and get out.

Actual success ratio of about 50% has been acceptable for such a scatter gunned approach but the losses were also wins when considered as essential parts of the learning curve. And many long-term friends came from business interactions.

From little things, big things grow

The irony is that, in year 12, I campaigned to keep uniforms for senior years at our secondary school. The reasoning went that we would all be equal. The fear was that I would be singled out as povvo because I was stuck with home mended hand me downs while all the cool kids had the latest expensive fashion.

The ultimate irony is that I now wear such items as badges of honour. My dearest disagrees with some of the sartorial choices, but such is the joy of relationships that are deeper and longer lasting than the next shareholder AGM. Besides, as a gardener, she is now more of a work grot than me! Above all, we both very much enjoy working on our own terms.

The corporations have not fully won yet. Being less of a robot in your own approach to the world helps with that end. Wear a sarong, board shorts or plus fours if it makes you happy. Nude up if the rules allow. Find a gig that lets you do that. At the very least, put on a colourful top or funky loud shoes and do your bit to undermine the broligarchy that is choking our collective existence.