The Sisterhood of the Vanishing Pants

It was not a decision made lightly. To stop wearing pants in public. I have always dressed a bit more on the modest side than most. But I have long wanted to experiment with dressing modestly with intention. So I just stopped. Last August. August 2010, I should say. And it was that simple.

Of course, nothing is EVER that simple. It takes a bit more forethought in order to ensure that I have skirts available for work, for play, for errands, etc. And the availability of skirts that hit below the knee are at the whim of the fashion industry.

Here’s the thing: I haven’t missed wearing pants. Not even once. Maybe it’s because I am so short-wasted — not too mention just-plain-short — that pants never fit quite right. Even with alterations.

But that’s not what prompted me to ditch my pants. It really was a conscious decision to do something with my attire that was connected with being a Jewess.

{jew-ess} — a Jewish woman or girl. The term, which is thought to date back to the 14th century, has become offensive in recent years, but I have loved it since I was a girl and first read Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe. Rebecca, the Jewess, was a dark–haired beauty and, to me, the perfect prototype of a romantic female lead. {{sigh…}} And because of this, I only associated positive feelings toward the word.

Traditionally-speaking, modesty in dress and speech is something that is valued in Judaism. It is not typically a value explored in the liberal communities and I think that is a mistake. Imagine how powerful it could be for modern Jewish girls and women to redefine the motivations for covering their bodies and barring others from objectifying them.

I want my outer appearance to better reflect my inner self. I want my outer appearance to be, as I have learned from some other modest women, attractive but not attracting. I want my outer appearance to reveal my devotion to the Holy One.

Plus — I really do feel so much cuter, sassier, empowered, etc. when wearing a skirt or dress.

I still have them, though. My pants. Dress slacks. Comfy jeans…or as comfy as they can be. (I’ve never found them to be all that comfortable). Cotton capris. Herringbone trousers. I am not yet ready to give them away. I am not yet ready to make what seems to be a final commitment. Yes, even after a year.

A year in which, by the way, the only person to notice that I stopped wearing pants was a classmate of mine who hadn’t seen me in over a decade.

It continues to amaze me how private our spiritual lives are even when we are living them out in a communal setting. Surely someone has noticed… And before you suggest that attire is the kind of thing about which others refrain from commenting, let me correct your innocent, but misguided, impression. After years in the rabbinate, I can assure you that I received plenty of comments about my hair, attire, shoes, jewelry. Even my eyewear has been the subject of public scrutiny.

But not my pants. Or the lack thereof.

Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. This week, we were asked to write about jeans. This is a post that has been written and rewritten in my mind for the past eleven months. I guess I was just waiting for the right prompt. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.