Here a suit gets you sympathy

After he was U.S. ambassador to the U.K. in the early 1990s, Raymond Seitz wrote a book called “Over Here,” in which he compared almost every conceivable aspect of America and Britain. No differences were too small or too big for him to line up side by side like pictures of cousins examined in the parlor. Seitz wrote about service in restaurants, attitudes toward animals, government budget processes, and even people’s sense of time and space.

I’m with Seitz, except I like comparing the East and West Coast of America, having recently moved here from Washington, D.C. I’ve tried to keep my obsession from spilling over too often into this column, but it’s like the electric meter constantly spinning around in the locked case on the side of my house. I can’t turn it off.

The differences in attitudes toward work in Washington and Montecito are particularly striking. The more hours you work in Washington, the more important you are, while it’s often the reverse in Montecito. Go down to Jeannine’s Bakery on any given workday and half your neighbors will be there. I had one fellow tell me at a party recently that he almost wants to make an excuse when he tells people he works.

I was sitting outside Pierre LaFond in the upper village having a sandwich within the first few weeks of being in town when a man walked past and into the shop. There’s something funny about him, I remember thinking. Then I had it: He was wearing a suit.

Men in Washington don’t need pajamas because they never take their suits off. About six years ago, when I quit being a lawyer, shed the suit and became a freelance writer, I felt very strange the first few times I went downtown in the middle of the day. Everyone looked at me as if thinking, “Poor guy’s out of a job.”

In Montecito it’s the opposite. If you wear a suit, everyone who sees you is thinking, “Poor guy’s got a job.”

The work differences between Montecito and D.C. are reflected in the residential architecture and language of both places. Visit Montecito homes and you’ll see some beautiful offices, often unattached to the house on the property. The owners don’t commute and the workday is undefined.

In Washington, people might have home offices, but they’re likely to be the smallest bedroom in the house converted for that use. They often double as guest rooms, too.

Exceptions to this in Washington are likely to attract notice. William Christenberry, a famous artist who lives in D.C., has built a large studio on the side of his house in which to work and hang Southern folk art he collects. He was once in his yard when a young man stopped, pointed to the structure and asked Christenberry if it was his law office.

As for language, the more important people in Washington introduce themselves with a definite article. “I’m the undersecretary for democracy and global affairs” is one example. “I’m a lawyer” just isn’t as sexy.

In Montecito, those with a definite article are definitely not the article. Take “I’m the Montecito columnist for the Santa Barbara News-Press” for one random example. Here, the indefinite article has more cachet. If you say, “I’m an investor,” it implies that you’re wealthy enough to lie around by the pool all day occasionally checking your E-Trade account.

Best, however, is no article at all. “I’m Ty” or “I’m Oprah.”

Enough said.