Being a voracious reader and a glutton for self-punishment, I’ve forced myself to get through far too many articles and blog posts about feminine modesty in my day. It’s like the circus sideshow, you know? Modesty pushers are sort of like the rare exhibits I just can’t seem to look away from. I shake my head so much that by the end of each damned post, I have given myself whiplash. Then, I just go and do it again like I’m the submissive and the dom in some twisted relationship with myself. I force myself to gulp down these bits of writing defending modesty because I just can’t seem to grasp how fully-grown adults cannot see the absurdity in what they say. Like, if I keep reading them, maybe one day I will understand. But alas, there are only four things to be learned from people who write such posts. Four things, total:
1. It says that you think you’re irresistible. You’re convinced that if you show a hint of the Bobbsey twins, it’ll send the men in close proximity into a sweaty, all-consuming whirlpool of desire that will end in blistered palms, divorce papers and a spike in Kleenex stock. Your daisy dukes will cause a lotion shortage for a 100 mile radius and your thigh-highs are gonna triple the number of road accidents every single time you’re out in public. You think you’re so dang hot that men will be aborting their baby batter for hundreds of years over the mere mention of your name. According to Single Young Christian Mom, it’s not just men, either:
I feel the desire to wear the sexiest outfit in the room so that I know beyond a doubt that Ethan’s eyes will only be on me and he won’t have to make the conscious effort to turn away. But this is a selfish desire of mine. This is a desire I have to keep fighting, because while, yes, Ethan’s eyes will be locked on me, so will the eyes of others. Men, women, boys, girls, young women, young men…
Literally everyone will be falling over themselves for a look at your real estate, is that right? Move over Jennifer Lawrence, because they’ll be calling it The Fappening II: The Second Coming. Data caps will be met and destroyed as everyone near you scrambles to upload photos of this Jesus-lovin’ mama in “the sexiest outfit in the room”.
Right, sugar. Sure thing.
2. It says that you have absolutely no respect for or faith in the men in your life. You think these men are so useless and unrestrained that just a flash of knee will turn them into criminally deviant sex offenders. You’re sure they lack self-control so severely, that it is fully up to you to make sure they behave. You’re positive if they didn’t have you to take care of them, they’d behave like a feral chihuahua at a pork rind convention… just ravenously consuming everything in view.
Boy, oh, boy, are these men lucky to have someone who thinks so highly of them in their lives.
Despite what you think of them, men can and do control themselves. Whether or not they react outwardly to a glimpse of Boob Canyon is entirely up to them. Trust them to be respectful. Most of them are, and if someone dares admire your Twin Peaks, it’s not the worst thing in the world. One day, they’re going to be hanging down around your knees and you might find yourself missing the old days when your perky pillows made any man’s Chairman Mao stand at attention.
3. It says that you are uncomfortable with human sexuality. You’re terrified of being turned on by a man’s magic wand and bag of tricks. You’ve been told over and over that sex is dirty, lust is sin, and the Jeeboner, blessed be his horny soul, is always watching. You’re afraid to paddle your pink canoe, lest God sees your eyes roll into the back of your head in pure ecstasy. One glimpse of a bean flick, and the big guy might send you to the lake of fire with all the other skittle diddlers, amirite? Boobs and vaginas and penises, oh, my!
4. You’re a liar. When you write your righteous blog posts about the devil-borne evils of bikinis and why you won’t wear leggings anymore, we see right through it. Do you know how we see through it, Lil Miss Perky Pillows? Because if you were serious about not wanting to be attractive, you’d wear potato sacks and not apply make-up, ever. You’d stop washing and gain weight. Maybe you’d fart and burp in front of every man you meet, or eat like a slob with a trail of food down the front of your shirt every day. Lustful thoughts aren’t going to disappear because you stopped wearing low-cut tops. It really doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. Women get hit on bundled up on the slopes just as often as they do in the gym.
My advice is to wear what you want. Explore your sexuality and be happy with your body. You know, the body you believe God both designed and gave you. If a man can’t control himself around you, that’s on him, not you.
Women are beautiful. Celebrate that. Enjoy it. Take pride in the fact that you are, in no uncertain terms, a work of evolutionary art that beat incredible odds into existence and will go back to star dust before you know it. Seize the flipping day, carpe the freaking diem and just be happy in your own skin before you run out of time to do so.