I still remember, with an indignation, a college professor who told us she was not the place of a woman in the field of architecture, but at home she made food and raised her children. How revolted we were, the girls, of the dishonest discrimination we are witnessing, because we did not understand what we are inferior to our fellow boys … I barely managed to look differently at what the teacher tried to suggest, maybe not in the most appropriate way, in the faculty years.
At present, we live in a society that respects us as professionals and puts our trust in our inspiration, creativity and education. Now, few are the ones who doubt that we will be able to find both practical and aesthetic solutions, to combine usefulness with pleasure and to harmonize the different aspects of architectural projects in our own way, and all without our we want to compete with male architects.
We, women, have struggled throughout history to be equal to men in all professions, to show them that we can and we want to work side by side with them and that we are not inferior to them. Unfortunately, that’s not the problem. It is not about equality, but about complementarity. It is about what a woman can bring distinctively in a profession, to the contribution of a man. It is about collaboration, optimization, improvement, development of the same service, namely architecture and interior design.
It was only at maturity that we understood that what the college professor had to say was that for a woman the job of architect in dirty, dusty, cement-sanded construction sites in difficult weather conditions even for a man , among scaffolding, cranes and excavators, is tough and there will be times when our femininity will suffer. The years passed and the young indignant student, who was then, came to see how life actually appeared on a site and how many challenges it had to face.
I must also admit that many situations I have encountered over time have been amusing and, even after a few years, I still smile at their memory …
“I’m opening the door to an apartment. The stream on the staircase pushes a large cloud of dust into the hallway. Instinctively, I grab the collar from the blouse and pull it over my nose, trying to see at least one wall inside the apartment. The owner, near me, courageously comes in, and, noticing who he is talking to, only hears his prayers for a pause to cut the walls. I had gone home properly dressed for the construction day, with rubber boots, a jacket I did not care much about and was easy to clean, and I did not make a big makeup that morning. Or at least so I had believed before. The dust was so dense and dense that the images that were unfolding in front of me, sitting in the door of the apartment, were like a movie. After a while, the handsome and kind owner appears, who invites me to wait for ten minutes in front of the block until he gets airy. I conform, dusty and confused, but also slightly amused by my first day on a real yard.
After a while, we decide to try and get into the “twilight area” again. We opened the door with confidence, but unfortunately there had not been much change. Very skeptical, I finally went into the apartment and I chose to start with the end-of-the-room room, which looked a bit more airy. I forgot to tell you that the apartment had four rooms, creepy in many circumstances. I do not know how to describe the feeling you have when you take half of your body on the desperate glass to draw a fresh air of breath and realize that you are ingesting all the dust because the gray clouds are still there.
This happened somewhere in the middle of a working day, so after I broke off, I went back to my office. I was not thinking of anything but how well I could get a washing machine to throw away all the clothes I had on me and a shower for an hour. All I could do was just go to the restroom of the company I was working on and stare at me in the mirror. My hair, which was still somehow caught by looking arranged, was covered with a blanket of healthy dust. I tried to shake it, to wipe it with a towel, but I did not make too much progress, as you imagine. I managed to clean the coat more easily, the boots were a trifle. After a more careful study in the mirror, I realize that my black-blurred mascara had received a splendid shimmering grayness in itself. I let go of warm water, brush off every makeup of my face, then run through my purse and, very happily, I win a hand cream so as to relieve my sufferings from the face. I blew my nose ten times until I felt like I did not breathe dust any more, and, about half an hour later, I walked out of the toilet, somewhat comfortable with the situation. Returning to the office, I tell my colleagues the experience I just went through. I later understood that each of them had been part of such a baptism at the beginning of their career. When I look at my watch, I am terrified and saddened at the same time … There were only two hours left to go home … Ready for the day!
I do not know if a man would have resisted better or if he could do a more efficient job then, but for me it was a clear lesson of life that helped me to look at my college teacher’s advice. I did not give up the job of an architect, I did not run to the saucepan as recommended, but in the future I armed with more patience, equipment as the actual conditions in the yards and I learned to make my resources and strategy very effective to approach any project.