Clothes and the woman
Cats: lingerie, marriage etc.|Clothes have always had multiple purposes. They keep us warm, dry, and protected from the elements. They preserve modesty, protect others from unpleasant sights, maintain that element of surprise. And they say something about the wearer — his or her social position, affluence, education level, cultural background.
To those in the know in each style niche, clothing provides ever more layered and nuanced indications of the wearer’s musical tastes, sexual proclivities, likely entertainment preferences, and gawd knows what else.
It’s quite astonishing, really. A second glance, a quick appraisal of a style of shirt, the length of hem, the socks (or lack thereof), a pattern, a neckline, a collection of colors — they all add up to a pretty potent package of information.
There are always those, however, who just don’t see the virtue in subtlety. Why make people infer stuff about you, when you can just shove it right up their nose? Enter the T-shirt.
T-shirts declare your political views; your attitudes to education, work, play; your favourite group, your school, your workplace, your age, your interests. You name it, there’s a shirt for it.
Lately I’ve come across t-shirts which declare: BRIDE, BRIDESMAID, GROOM … just in case the white dress and tux weren’t enough to tip you off, I guess. But who wears a t-shirt to their wedding? So, when do you…
Oh, I get it! It’s for the girls for whom ONE day is simply NOT ENOUGH. They wants days, weeks, MONTHS of being the woman of the hour.
And then, when the Big Day finally rolls around, and they get to wear the Big White Dress, when you really, really, really wouldn’t think a label was required any more, they slip on a pair of these:
(bridalpartytees.com)
They’re for the groom, of course. Just in case, when confronted with a couple thousand dollars worth of silk, satin and tulle floating down the aisle toward him, he’s not quite sure who’s inside all that froth, he can just dive right under and check it out. And then, for the honeymoon, she can don a pair of these:
(bridalpartytees.com)
(Did you know that 90% of American brides these days change their names? Which is UP from the 1980’s? Does that worry you? Does it suggest a disheartening trend in women’s own attitude to their personal agency?)
Which brings us to these. Which worry me even more than the Mrs. Butt panties, though in truth they are simply a bizarre but natural extension of the aforesaid.
(bridalpartytees.com)
Ugh.
Okay, I get the idea, and it’s a sweet, romantic one, I know. “I’m married now, and I’m planning on monogamy, and I love this guy, and he’s the only one for me, he has my loyalty and I’m his forever, and I just want to declare that!” In this tasteful and meaningful way.
By labelling your pubis? By declaring your crotch the property of someone else? You know, there are very few things one can know to be one’s own, entirely and utterly. Your mind is one of them. Your body, with very few exceptions, is another.
And your ladybits? Let’s see … when there’s a baby coming out through it, ownership is arguably shared for a few hours. Apart from that? That piece of real estate, honey, whether you’re married, single, or something in between, is yours.
Yours and no one else’s.
Good lord.
