The Statement of a Great Lipstick and a Scarf

When I started working in corporate America, I adopted a philosophy that has stayed with me throughout my career: presentation is everything.

Coming into the world of Wall Street, I quickly noticed a pattern. Most people looked almost identical. The men and women moved through the halls dressed in the same shades of navy, black, charcoal gray, and, on occasion, beige. It felt as though everyone belonged to the same hive, busy bees dressed in a corporate uniform.

I often found myself asking two questions. Was this really a dress code, or had individuality simply been surrendered in exchange for acceptance? And who decided that professionalism had to be expressed through such a narrow palette of colors?

What did those colors signify that brighter ones could not?

For me, those questions were personal. I already stood out. As a woman and a person of color in spaces where neither was always the norm, blending in was never fully an option. If I was going to be noticed anyway, why not be noticed authentically?

I remember working with a senior leader, a white woman who frequently wore vibrant colors. Colleagues described her style as bold, confident, and fashion-forward. Yet when I wore bright colors, the reaction was often different.

“Why do you like such loud colors?” people would ask.

My answer was always simple:

“I’m bringing some sunshine and positive energy into the workplace.”

I never viewed color as a disruption. To me, color was optimism. It was confidence. It was joy. It was culture. It was a visual reminder that professionalism and personality could coexist. The work was serious enough. Why couldn’t the environment benefit from a little warmth?

Over time, I found my signature expression through scarves.

While others might have assumed my “loudness” came from colorful blazers or dresses, the truth was far more nuanced. I learned that if I wore the same tailored suit, changing the scarf could transform the entire outfit. A navy suit paired with a vibrant silk scarf felt completely different from that same suit worn with an abstract print, a bold geometric pattern, or a burst of tropical color.

Scarves became my creative outlet.

They allowed me to honor the expectations of corporate dress while still bringing my personality into the room. Each scarf told a different story. Each reflected a different mood, season, memory, or piece of my identity. Rather than seeing a suit as a uniform, I saw it as a canvas.

And depending on my mood, the shoes and the handbag completed the statement.

A bright pair of shoes. A colorful handbag. A striking scarf. A great lipstick.

Together, they didn’t just accessorize an outfit; they brightened the energy. They reflected how I felt and how I wanted to show up in the world that day.

Some people called it loud.

I called it being myself.

In fact, I came to understand that the word loud was often not a compliment. In many cases, it was a derogatory word used to describe someone as too much, too confident, too visible, or unwilling to shrink themselves to make others comfortable. It was often a way of saying someone didn’t know their place.

I rejected that notion.

My colors were never about seeking attention. They were about refusing to disappear. They were about bringing all of myself into the spaces I occupied. What some viewed as loud, I viewed as cultural. I viewed it as joy. I viewed it as authenticity.

The irony is that people often forget that presentation is the first judgment and the first perception. Before a word is spoken, people form opinions. They make assumptions. They create narratives.

I have always believed that presentation is more than appearance.

It is the first presentation of who you are.

And sometimes it is the first presentation of who you are becoming.

For some, that presentation may come in shades of black, navy, and gray. For me, it came wrapped in color.

A great lipstick and a beautiful scarf became my signature. They reminded me that professionalism does not require conformity. They taught me that style can be both personal and powerful. They allowed me to express confidence without saying a word.

Looking back, I realize this was never really about fashion.

It was about identity.

It was about belonging without disappearing.

It was about earning a seat at the table without sacrificing the parts of myself that made me unique.

If there is one lesson I have carried throughout my career, it is this:

“Never dim your color to fit in. The world has enough uniforms.”

Your color, your culture, your energy, and your authenticity are not distractions from your success. They are part of it.

And if bringing a little sunshine into a sea of navy and black makes some people uncomfortable, then perhaps they needed the sunshine the most.