Okay, so try to imagine how weird it would feel if people from your church, your work, your gym, even your own family actually took note of how often you put on a dress. As I promoted my books, even media members actually took note of my life-long aversion to dresses.
It was one thing when I was in the 5th grade and, on the first day of school, Craig Krueger and Jimmy Dunn told me I couldn’t “be in the military” with them because I was wearing a dress. The one day – the one day – of the year that my mom could get me in the dress and this is the day my childhood buddies were going to recruit new officers. D For years I foiled my mother’s attempts to refine me by pulling off my first-day-of-school-skirt on the way to school to sport my jean cut-offs or athletic shorts. She caught on and bought me a dress so that I couldn’t shed it quite so easily. So … I stuffed the billowy material in my shorts and climbed the fence. I looked ridiculous and my buddies laughed. They would later pay for that.
Good girls are supposed to outgrow such tomboy dress phobias and don elegant gowns, swoon over fine fabrics, and become full-blown shopaholics upon entering womanhood.
That female gene is dead in me. Or, at least, stunted. Still, I was rockin’ my own style and comfortable with the whole no-dress thing until someone suggested to me that as a role model to young girls and ladies, I should wear dresses.
How so? How can I possibly execute a good round kick or climb over things, walk my horse, or otherwise be a super productive person in a dress? In a dress, you have to sit properly and if you run, the material gets caught between your legs. You need to shave regularly and you have to ride side-saddle. Okay, most people don’t have this worry, but it would be an issue if your only mode of transportation was a horse. If its windy outside you could accidentally flash someone (and given my choice in underwear sometimes this could be a very bad thing) and if you’re a chubby thighed person – I’m not saying this is me, I’m uh, I’m just pontificating – your legs could get sweaty from the fleshy friction. In all practical senses, dresses do not make sense.
But, eventually, I was kind of feeling the pressure to wear a dress more often. You know, show that I do possess a feminine side.
Then, I was reading a book about Joan of Arc – a seriously cool chick, when I learned that among her list of “crimes” was her manner of dress. Or, lackthereof. She dared to dress like a man. She wore pants. It was heresy. An abomination and further proof that she was a witch, a whore and a messenger of the devil come to destroy man.
Wow.
I’m thinking she just didn’t want to ride sidesaddle while conquering English troops and reuniting the French!
She was given to such bravery and inspiration, she said, by the voice of God. Me? I just never really got over the fear of someone running down the hall and throwing the back of the skirt up into the air. Billy Arnold did that to Cindy Meredith in the 4th grade and everyone saw she was wearing purple-flowered underwear and you do NOT want that, my friends. You do not want that!! You might say, “Well, just never wear purple flowered underwear” but if you’re really smart, you just don’t ever wear something that could be thrown up over your head to blind and ultimately humiliate you.
Then, I identified an amazing woman to whom I am now connected – literally and spiritually -- Amelia Bloomer.
In 1848, Bloomer began writing women’s rights, prohibition and anti-slavery articles (she was so cool!) for her husband’s newspaper, The Seneca Falls Courier. By January the following year, she had her own publication, The Lily. And as her popularity grew, so did a growing public awareness of her choice of clothing.
So, here’s what I’m thinking. If you are a super cool, progressive, savvy woman all about equality living in an incredibly narrow-minded time and you’re dependent on in a printing press, running around New York scooping great stories and fighting for women’s rights, you do NOT need great gusts of wind to blow your skirt over your head or get caught between your legs or endure inner-thigh chaffing. So, she wore full-length pants – think MC Hammer’s jammer pants. She was so devoted to these pantaloons that they were dubbed, “Bloomers.”
She was not the first to wear such things, but she gave them the name and totally embraced the practicality of pantaloons despite public ridicule. Atta Girl!
Whew. For a moment there, I almost forgot who I was. With such role models as Joan of Arc and Amelia Bloomer … how can I not wear my bloomers whenever I get a chance?? (And not that I’m chubby-thighed or anything but its also a lot more comfortable!)
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