Almost exactly 20 years ago, fresh out of graduate school, I started work at a smallish strategy consulting firm.
It was a poor choice, both for them and for me; I am not cut out to be a management consultant. I was even allergic to my own suit. When one of my fellow recruits learnt this, she pointed out that, in this job, “you only need to do two things: talk shit and wear a suit, and you can’t do either of them”. (I like to think that I have since mastered at least one of those skills.)
In any case, I was miserable and useless. My employers generously suggested that I might want to resign, and that if I did they would happily keep paying me for a while. I followed their advice and found a much more conducive job, most of which I was able to perform without embarrassment, wearing blue jeans. I had been very lucky.