Following Monday’s post on the majesty of boyhood and the earlier culmination of Pitti Uomo, here is a Ton branded look at the anticipatory glory of the overture of manhood. The double breasts, the deep, rich color that effectively remains neutral, the safety pins abutting patriotic stripe work, the ties, the belts–maybe I’ve began attempting discernible male prepubescence because it’s a precursor to manliness? Maybe.
I read a comical thread of dialogue on an internet-fostered discussion board generated by a comment that asked, “why are so many women dressing like men? It’s so totally annoying and weird and like, why not just wear clothes made for you?” While many of the responses fell somewhere along the “it’s the 2010’s, Lady, you have got to be kidding” spectrum, a handful argued in favor of the hard-hitting question, sharing an, erm, interesting point of view. My particular favorite? “You’re right. Women should dress like women and wear make-up and take care of themselves and be fancy.”
Ah! Yes! I left my fancy at home, shoot. My femininity has been completely compromised.
The internet really is magical, you see, in that one minute you’re in 2013 and the next, you could find yourself deep in the trenches of early 1960’s Tehran. (See: my mother’s nascence.) In a most concentrated effort to shill profound benefit of the doubt, I will make an inference about this comment and say one thing. In this ambiguous 3rd Wave over, 4th not quite in tow but certainly permeating-wave of feminism, we are conditioned to function ironically. Blame Generation “i”, blame the Internet (that seems to be a particular favorite of mine), blame reading (or writing) and loving blogs and websites about female individuality that still place whole emphasis on The Man (see: Man Repeller), blame our utter appreciation for TV shows about awesome 20-something women who calibrate their existences based on the merits of their dalliances (see: Girls), and, maybe too, (this one may be wholly subjective) blame indulging in mens’ clothes to feel more powerful.
It doesn’t really give us power, does it?
I’ll be honest, I have no plan of reforming my new outfitting policy. I am committed to looking like a boy until, at least, next week (after all, if I could look like the above, a partisan of the Florence fostered spectacle that seemingly has the capital, italicized IT, too, why wouldn’t I?), but maybe the fancy-fiend on the discussion board is onto something beyond my personal scope of intelligence and qualification. Maybe, just maybe, she wants to say that as women, it’s our duty to dress like women in order to properly greet the next great phase of female evolution and conclusively attain the uncontested respect we want.
Or, maybe, you know, I’m reading too deep into this (and using a lot of commas to justify the confusion). Generally speaking, your opinion is far better than mine though, so please, tell me what you think. Tell me. Tell me now. And if you’re looking for me, I’ll be at Brooks Brothers.