Informal Attire

I was showing a friend something in my closet and she gasped as she looked at my clothes rod filled with tshirts. I had no idea why she was so riveted by the shirts. They hung in no particular order according to colors or styles, just a rack full of various nonfancy shirts.

When I asked what she seemed surprised about, she simply said, “The number.”

I’ve never counted my shirts, nor have I counted the number of jeans, shorts, dresses, underpants or socks I have stuck in drawers and hanging in various closets, so I was puzzled. Yes, I have more t-shirts than I have dresses. In fact, I have fewer dresses than I have jackets, and fewer dresses than I have shorts in the summer and jeans in the winter.

So, what is the big deal about an abundance of casual shirts? I grew up in the days, way back, when girls wore dresses to school, to parties, to church, to ride horses, to sleepovers, for about everything. But my folks ran a newspaper, and we had jobs around the shop after school, so we changed clothes and got out of our ‘school clothes’ and into blue jeans and shirts, usually corduroy buttoned shirts in the winter and t-shirts in the summer.

This habit of changing clothes continued throughout my lifetime. I would go to classes in college dressed in a dress, but the minute I hit my dorm room, I changed clothes. And when I walked in the door after a day of work, I dropped one façade of being clothed, and stepped into another dimension.

As a retiree I am not attempting to impress anyone with my ‘dress for success’ wardrobe. T-shirts, jeans, and pink hair seem to express who I am perfectly. Comfortable, loose, and free of expected outfits fit and suit me.

Now that I think about it, I don’t own any suits, unless I count a blue t-shirt over a pair of blue jeans as a suit. There was a time in my life when more formal attire was expected, and I adhered to the unspoken rules of proper dressing. But it was more than just clothing that was considered appropriate for women. The length of skirts was measured carefully, shoe colors, and heel heights were under scrutiny by human resource operatives.

I was in high school when the powers that be declared girls could wear pants to classes on Fridays, but penny loafers were still expected to adorn one’s feet. A sexist barrier had been left ajar, and I was delighted. The same rules didn’t seem to apply for boys. They weren’t required to wear dresses that billowed and exposed their lower limbs to harsh sandstorms and winter snowfalls. And who ever heard of someone checking how high a male’s boot heels measured?

The different expectations for males and females were a hard one to breach, and we’ve not torn down that fence completely, even though we have made strides toward allowing cross dressing. I guess I will acknowledge the existence of equity when no one raises an eyebrow when men find comfort in dressing in a mini skirt.

Age and social norms do dictate our desires and taste. My mother never understood her three daughters’ propensities to favor pants over dresses. She felt she had failed as a model of fashion if we showed up for a dinner in faded jeans and an untucked crewneck shirt. It was not the image she preferred for her girls.

Alas, life is full of disappointments, and that must have been one of hers. Sorry Mom.