[This cat disapproves of all your clothes and you in general.]
I trust you didn’t pop over here today to hear all my thoughts and feelings about Mr. Trump and Mr. Un, and the relative sizes of their nuclear buttons. I have more important thoughts jangling around in my head, conjured into existence by this curious piece. Essentially (but you should still go read it) a young woman decided to dress the way men do for a whole month to see what it’s like. She wasn’t exactly dressing as a man, she wore lipstick and tried to be feminine, but she wanted to see what sort clothing traumas men go through. An exercise in empathy, perhaps, but also of curiosity.
You’ll be shocked to learn, and really, do go read the article, that men do not have same sorts of issues with clothing as women do. Living for a month in suits and comfortable shoes, this lady discovered how uncomfortable she had been her whole life inhabiting the tyranny of women’s clothing. And now that she’s experienced real comfortable practicality, she’s not going back.
I was basically onboard until she got to the packing of her suitcase to go on holiday. I mean, I know exactly what she is talking about. The vain admixture of having to wear clothes that weren’t exactly designed for my particular shape, with my desire to be seen and admired by all, and my quest to please myself, means that I am always basically uncomfortable and probably unhappy too. I shove myself into trousers and shoes and tops and coats wanting very much to be gorgeous and comfortable, and really never getting to experience either. It’s the pathos of life. So one solution might certainly be to just give up and wear what the men are wearing.
But then she did come to the suitcase question, and as I said, that’s where she lost me. She writes, ” I worried over what else to put in the suitcase. Tops and bottoms had to be coordinated; comfortable yet complementary shoes considered; and what about socks, tights, and bras? Even though I’d largely given up women’s clothing, clearly, women’s fashion had left a mark that was hard to scrub off.”And I thought, but it’s the worry that makes it so interesting, that gets to the heart of the curious difference between men and women. It’s true, men don’t worry. They just put things in the bag. They, mostly, take the jumbled pile of clothes out of the drawer and shove them into the suitcase and walk onto the plane. Some of them do worry, of course, but not really. They don’t lay it all out and carefully pack it in and then take it all back out and rearrange it. They don’t consider what will happen first and how they will want to feel in their clothes when that is going on and then what will happen second and so on. They just pack and go on with life.
It looks charming but truly, it isn’t. Its completely exasperating. I mean, ok. It’s fine to have one kind of person who doesn’t worry, but only when he can be balanced by another kind of person who does. Someone has to think and fret and be anxious and wonder what’s appropriate and what will be beautiful. One person has to say to the other person, don’t put that on, you look Too comfortable.
There’s not a worldwide conspiracy to keep women uncomfortable and unhappy–humanity is not organized enough for that kind of forethought. It is rather the difficult but charming difference between two kinds of people who think about everything from opposite sides of the suitcase. Except that one of the kinds, the women, are doggedly pursued by Satan who inspired the fashion industry to destroy all their happiness. That’s what’s wrong. We shouldn’t have to wear the clothes of men, but all the people who make the clothes of women and make them without pockets should have to wear them for eternity and suffer.
Anyway, the more uncomfortable your clothes are, the more you can look forward to heaven where everything will fit gorgeously and be beautiful. And that’s worth all manner of discomfort now.