I wake up every morning and find a pair of stretch pants that are not too wrecked for wear. I untangle my black miniskirt from a pile of clothes on the floor and put it on. It’s no big deal. I’ve been wearing this particular miniskirt nearly every day for the last ten years and it is indestructible, made from a magical stretchy polyester that never loses its shape or color. Uniform on, I walk out the door and field a world of subtle judgments. If I walk out the door wearing only stretch pants, I don’t receive nearly as much attention as I do if I add the additional layer of miniskirt. On the world wide web, people are very outspoken about leggings not being pants, and miniskirts worn over leggings not being appropriate for anyone under twenty or over thirty. Before I delve into the assumptions I make about what people are thinking when they see my fully-clothed short skirted bottom walking down the street, allow me this:
I will wear mini-skirts until the day I die. I love the way they look and I love the way they feel. I wear them to be comfortable. I like my body, I like my legs. I love my round tummy. I don’t want to cloak or obscure my form. I want my clothes tight, trim, and fitted. I will wear my clothes like this until the end of my days. No matter how my body changes and grows, I have the right to walk down the street feeling comfortable and gorgeous. I refute dowdy. (Though I think it looks great on others!)
World, why do you so dearly love to scan my hem in judgment? I see scorn, I see derision, I see contempt, I also see inappropriate levels of intrigue and attraction. I want you to take those feelings and politely keep them to yourself. Hold onto them and later when you are trying to figure them out, I want you to picture me fifty years from now in this same exact mini-skirt. I look fabulous. Please get used to it.