Uniformity
Really thought I'd written about uniforms before, but if so I can't find a single essay on it here.
I am most comfortable in a uniform, starting with the navy blue of Catholic school. Other kids complained, but I adored having a set way of dressing for the day, no question, and not up to my mother. I didn't have to chose from what little clothing I had that I generally did not like - cheap and ill fitting, pastel and polyester knit. It was that era. My mother made some of my clothes, which were mostly pretty good, a dark blue wool school jumper (pinafore), a yellow a-line dress, a maxi in flowered blue cotton - the last not allowed except at home. At least at school, I looked like everyone else, in terms of clothing. One less subject to be harassed about.
High school uniform color was brown, not attractive, but again, predictable and not my fault. Good enough.
Theater meant no actual uniforms, but dance clothes and second hand ragged filled a similar function. The army BDU was a joy, down to buttons and the way the boots were laced, we dressed the same. Funny how personality is clearer when the clues of fashion and taste in clothing is erased. More uniforms in nursing school, then scrubs in the OR provided by the hospital.
Clothing does matter to me, mostly because I've always had to go cheap, and always felt inadequate, not to mention uncomfortable. Or guilty, if I wore something more expensive, from the few times that I have had the income to use on something better. Uniforms comfort me, since they absolve me of responsibility for how I look.
And it's not trivial. Battles have been fought over clothing choices. It took legal dress reform to release women from pounds of petticoats and constricting corsets. It's never just warmth and protection from the elements, it always expresses how we interact with the world, however utilitarian. Whether we choose to fit in or stand out, expose ourselves or hide, or try to balance, colors or blands, t-shirts with messages, jeans or skirts or utilikilts. And that's not even getting into hair, which is another ball of fuzzy wax.
I am most comfortable in a uniform, starting with the navy blue of Catholic school. Other kids complained, but I adored having a set way of dressing for the day, no question, and not up to my mother. I didn't have to chose from what little clothing I had that I generally did not like - cheap and ill fitting, pastel and polyester knit. It was that era. My mother made some of my clothes, which were mostly pretty good, a dark blue wool school jumper (pinafore), a yellow a-line dress, a maxi in flowered blue cotton - the last not allowed except at home. At least at school, I looked like everyone else, in terms of clothing. One less subject to be harassed about.
High school uniform color was brown, not attractive, but again, predictable and not my fault. Good enough.
Theater meant no actual uniforms, but dance clothes and second hand ragged filled a similar function. The army BDU was a joy, down to buttons and the way the boots were laced, we dressed the same. Funny how personality is clearer when the clues of fashion and taste in clothing is erased. More uniforms in nursing school, then scrubs in the OR provided by the hospital.
Clothing does matter to me, mostly because I've always had to go cheap, and always felt inadequate, not to mention uncomfortable. Or guilty, if I wore something more expensive, from the few times that I have had the income to use on something better. Uniforms comfort me, since they absolve me of responsibility for how I look.
And it's not trivial. Battles have been fought over clothing choices. It took legal dress reform to release women from pounds of petticoats and constricting corsets. It's never just warmth and protection from the elements, it always expresses how we interact with the world, however utilitarian. Whether we choose to fit in or stand out, expose ourselves or hide, or try to balance, colors or blands, t-shirts with messages, jeans or skirts or utilikilts. And that's not even getting into hair, which is another ball of fuzzy wax.
Posted by Zhoen on Tuesday, June 02, 2009
5 comments:
I eventually developed my own uniform, of jeans & havy polo shirts and sneakers, which I've worn for decades. I've never known whether that's virtuous simplicity or simply knowing I couldn't compete :-)
I would have been terribly grateful for school uniforms: somehow I was always dressed weird, and yes, it was one more way to be a target, then.
In my high school we had a dress code, not a uniform, but the dress code was strict enough that we all looked more or less the same.
BDU?
Dale,
That sounds like D's daily dress. He just doesn't want to "look like an idiot."
Phil,
Battle Dress Uniform, (now superseded by the ACU.) Had to turn them back in when my time was up, which did not break my heart.
Very well said, zhoen. I, too, have adopted mostly two styles of dress, one for summer--khaki shorts and t-shirts, the other for cooler weather--khaki slacks, white t, v-neck sweater. Color scheme is pretty simple-white, khaki, grey/black. Footwear: either Birk sandals or Birk hikers.
Scholl uniform I didn't mind in theory really, though the thing to do was moan about it, but unfortunately it was very uncomfortable, itchy, potentially smelly with adolescent bodies, not a help to self-liking at that point in one's life. Also, there was a huge amount of stress about being seen out of school in one's own clothes; moving out of uniform at 6th form (16 to 18) this seemed to dissolve, but then it was a different area with fewer well-off kids.
Now I find it a kind of challenge to find things which are loose fitting, straight lines, dark colours but with some colour, though plenty of black is fine, v-necks for preference in summer, as simple as possible, not to get drawn into fashionable detail which won't feel like me and will look ugly within a year or two. The current thing for gathers and square necks I abhor. I still often resort to the men's ranges, not least because I like the colours better. I'm quite into grey now my hair's grey...
Interesting stuff to make oneself aware of...
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