She looked smart. The quiet intensity in her light eyes reflected her thoughtfulness; she was often considering the information she heard, turning it over, under, and around, as if playing with a Rubik’s cube. She revealed her intellect in both the questions that left her lips and the scores she received on exams. When interacting with patients, she expressed warmth and confidence; they all relaxed visibly when sitting with her. Her classmates held great fondness for her and the professors at the medical school predicted great academic and clinical success in her future.

“But that nose ring,” the attendings lamented, “it’s just so unprofessional. Maybe we should suggest that she remove it.”

A slender ring of silver, adorned with a tiny, pale pink gem, threaded out of her nose and into her nostril. It was not incongruent with her professional attire; the nose ring added style to the doctorly outfits she wore underneath her short white coat.

The attendings—all male, all in dark pants, light shirts, and conservative neckties with uneven knots, and all wrapped in their long white coats—sighed. Doctors aren’t supposed to have nose rings.

People noticed that the color was absent. The inquiries and suggestions began:

• “Where is the color?”
• “When are you going to dye it again?”
• “You should go for a bright red again. That red-winged blackbird look you had going looked cool.”
• “I really liked the gold color.”

It was the first time in two years that my hair was without a stripe of unnatural color. It wasn’t an oversight. After a break of a month, the color has returned.

I had waited until I had established myself as a competent resident before asking my hairdresser to apply a few stripes of blue into my hair. I had wanted that Superman blue-black color in my hair for over ten years, but simply hadn’t pursued it. Though there is no evidence that unconventional appearances result in adverse patient care, there are physicians who believe this must be true.

People liked it. Younger attending physicians, fellow colleagues, nurses, social workers, medical students, and patients—particularly patients!—all offered compliments to me about my brightly-colored locks of hair.

I watched the eyes of some attendings—all male, all older, and all in dark pants, light shirts, and conservative neckties with uneven (and loose) knots—take note of my hair as it rotated through a palette of at least five hues. They said nothing. Doctors aren’t supposed to have unnatural colors in their hair.

Scrub pants tend to run long. Usually, one never knows what socks lurk underneath the pant legs.

Hospital housestaff begin to look identical after a while: They’re all in blue scrubs, dark clogs, and white coats. The uniform clearly identifies who they are and may narrowly define their roles and personalities.

Doctors are supposed to look serious.

Next time, look at their socks. This is often the only place where housestaff can express individuality. Sometimes, they’re simply white athletic socks. Other times, they boast bright, solid colors, argyle patterns, broad or thin stripes, odd animal prints, amusing illustrations, or fun designs.

(Yes, even some male physicians wear wacky socks.)