Don’T Mess with My Dress
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Don’t mess with my dress As a child, I was always into fashion. To this day, my mom has photos of me when I was three, wearing her clothes with a huge smile on my face. I happily walked around the house with her pearls on, which dragged on the floor as I moved, and her high heels, which were double the size of my feet. Throughout the years I’ve always worn what I wanted, from knee-high, high-heeled boots, to leather skirts and velvet crop tops. Even though all of the other kids never wore what I wore, I never felt ashamed, or different. I had no problem wearing these clothes to school but I discovered that other people did. Seventh grade at John Witherspoon Middle School was the first time I had ever felt that my clothing was being regulated.We weren’t allowed to wear tank tops, show our bra straps, wear low cut tops, or anything “that [would] be a distraction to learning,” according to the JWMS dress code. It was absurd to me; it’s not a girl’s fault if someone is distracted by a her back and can’t focus on anything else. I wanted to make change; I wanted to fight for the right to wear whatever I wanted. So when some girls at my school informed me that they decided to protest the dress code, I wanted to help. We all went into school wearing clothing that broke the dress code. I wore a crop top that showed just a sliver of my stomach. It was a mere five minutes before a teacher reached over and pulled my shirt down, without asking me or telling me why. Kids were walking by as she did it. I felt powerless and ashamed. “Don’t let anyone see that,” she said. I was furious. She wasn’t just telling me how to dress; she was implying I had something to hide — that my stomach was something to be ashamed of and as if she had unquestionable authority over my body. Many girls were asked to change clothes at our middle school. My sister was told to cover up one day because she was wearing a crop top with spaghetti straps. On the way to her locker to get a jacket, two more teachers told her to change. Needless to say, our vendetta against the dress code failed. Since that day, as an act of protest, I still wear whatever I wanted, but I started to become more insecure in my choices. As I walk into school some mornings, I think, Will people think I’m a slut for wearing this? Will guys stare at me creepily? Whenever I have these thoughts, I get angry. Boys can wear pretty much whatever they want, and I have never heard of a guy being told to change. I see them walking around with their jeans hanging low and their underwear showing, and no one cares. Dress codes are written as if girls must dress “appropriately” so that boys can have the best learning environment, while the impact on girls’ own self-image is largely ignored. And if my Don’t mess with my dress experience is any indication of the consequences of a sexist dress code, we have a long way to go before we close the gender gap that persists in schools in Princeton and around the country. .