Whose fashion advice would you take: Your Boyfriend’s or your Dad’s?
Here’s the catch: You can take yours too, if you dare.
I think almost everyone has had their outfits moral-policed at some point in their life. Whether it had been for a skirt length a tad-bit too short, or the so-called weird cutouts in your blouses which make it seem provocative.
My first experience of the same was during the parties I got invited to in high school days. With the developed urge to dress well and bring a part of my own in my clothes, the process always had me second-guessing if the outfit would be dad-approved.
Being dad-approved meant he won’t feel the need to go to my mother to ask me to change because he thinks the outfit is ‘inappropriate’.
Now I understand what he did was out of care, but the idea to cover myself up to avoid mishaps started there.
Going to buy a few necessities with my mum did give me time to flirt with the cute crop tops, each with their own personality: one with the trims, flared button downs, white sheer ones and oh the back slit ones!
Yet the affair never lasted long as I knew fairly that I’ll inevitably have to pick the ones which tuck in my jeans and choke me up with two buttons on its collar.
Fast forward to this day, I still question if what I choose to wear is truly my choice, or is it a really nauseous cocktail of orthodox ideals of being a woman.
Am I dressing up for myself? or am I intentionally looking dumb in public only for my ex’s and lovers to exclaim to his friends about how freaky I am in bed, despite my ‘tamed’ exterior.
Being a fashion student I tend to talk about clothing as casual conversation with my close ones, grasping the general opinion for research. Yet, this one time I mentioned wearing fishnets with a tennis skirt, I was told that it looks good only in bed; for an Indian street it’s too slutty.
Naturally, my next alternative to that was, “So how about I switch it to stockings?” to which I got “If you’re going to wear stockings just wear jeans, ’cause stockings are like leggings and they cover everything.”
At this point I just wanted to laugh at the consistency of failure I had, yet being patient, my last question was “Okay, what if I just wear the skirt, no stockings or fishnets?”
“Oh that would be perfect.”
‘Are you kidding me? Doesn’t that show almost everything?! Aren’t we supposed to cover up to look modest and decent for the onlookers? Doesn’t that skirt’s hemline seem too small now to go bare legged with it?’ Were the questions which I wanted to ask, but did not for the sake of not burning bridges.
Am I dressing up for my sexuality? Or for those molesters to view me as a girl who is innocent, so that they don’t pry their filthy hands all over me?
Male friends often see how much attention I get by simply being a girl, irrespective of the kind of clothes I wear, if that even is to be questioned.
Every once in a while I hear “Man, so many people are drooling over you.” immediately putting themselves into a bodyguard stance, or pretending to be my significant other to ward off problems.
Even while learning to drive a two-wheeler I got a great observation from a friend “People notice so damn much if a lady is driving and a man is sitting behind. What is the issue with that?” He seemed disgusted by the sidewalk stares, and I am glad he saw a small part of what we have normalized these days.
Am I dressing up for the occasion? Or estimating the literacy levels of the crowd at that place to determine whether I should choose western or ethnic clothes?
Well, it does not help. I got about twenty pairs of eyes undressing me naked in their minds when I wore ethnic in a middle-class restaurant. The best respect I got for showing that I looked attractive was by the waiter who smiled sincerely and bowed at my ‘thank you’ I said while he was serving us (desi waiters do not have this requirement in their job description trust me).
At the same time I also saw two plus-sized ladies in athleisure (and I mean the sports bra, leggings and bomber jacket trio) which even I would say with my internal misogyny that it was a daring outfit choice for a place like that. If you’ve been in India you know baring your midriff as a plus size person is near-to sin if it’s not as a saree. The astonishing part? They did not give a single f*ck.
So, am I dressing up for the male gaze?
Whenever I DO dress myself as conventionally desirable and ‘sexy’, I cannot help but question, ‘Do I dress like this to get validated by men with whom I wouldn’t want to be with in the first place?
When I see known ones call out an influencer as a sex object, I just nod in agreement, avoiding already unwanted arguments. I am praised by men for passing off snarky comments on the Kardashians, yet I also see them liking the ultra filtered booty pictures.
When I observe the amount of misogyny in a series or a rap song, I am told to shut up about it ’cause what are you going to do about it? You’re here, a mere student wanting to make it out of college, how does the portrayal of a gold-digger hottie in a rap song affect you?
Here’s the thing I can’t help but think that woman you’re sexualizing could’ve been me, and heck, she is independent enough to live the life she wants, oblivious of what this person on the other side of the screen is spouting about. I’d rather aspire to be her than a female version of you.
…
All these comments, contradictions and unsolicited opinions have made me overwhelmed to the point that I have just given up.
I have stopped caring about how I show up for work, a college party or a simple hangout. As long as I am invisible (read opinion-less and withholding my expressions), I will be ‘safe’.
I have stopped caring to shut these voices down, but the people around me haven’t.
It is such a rabbit-hole dichotomy. To shut down simply means succumbing to the omnipresent patriarchy. I see countless examples of women (and other minorities) embracing themselves in order to shine their true selves out.
As a young adult, I still have a long way to go. The snarky comments may dishearten me from time to time, yet I am smart enough to know that change starts from me as an individual speaking up about it.
…
To the men (oops not all men) who think I am below them, truth be told, I am smart, and I am not going to be dumbed down or be humble about it. I am desirable, but your gaze has stopped bothering me since ages. Yes my close ones enforce their internal misogyny on me, and I have constant fights with them which made me lose all my desi sanskaars (values).
Yes I lost in proving that misogynistic rap-songs hurt me in the chain of oppression, even if I don’t listen to rap that much. But at that moment, raising my voice for the first time did not bury me in regret when the discussion turned into a full-blown argument.
So the next time someone micromanages you to dress ‘appropriately’, tell them it’s their filthy gaze making it incongruous.
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