Sisterhood of the Withering Glance

This is something I do a lot:

I think, in the morning, about what I’m going to wear. I come up with an outfit, maybe something different than the jeans and sweater already on the floor. And by the time I get to my closet, I’ve talked myself out of it. It’s too (insert any word you can think of here). Too short, too long, too uncomfortable. Silly to wear to the grocery store, silly to wear to play with kids. Overly fancy, overly bright. It will look like I’m trying too hard. Better to look like I’m not trying. And I do, as I slip into my off-the-floor jeans and clogs and sweater.

There’s a practical piece to those clothes, for those of us who are home with children. We spend the day lifting, chasing, crouching, cooking, and acting as effluvia repositories. Our days don’t include anything fancy that requires heels, or even a funky shirt - in fact, anything fancy enough to be dry-clean only is essentially off-limits, unless you have a really big laundry budget.

But there’s something else there, too. I know men think we dress for them, but really, we dress for each other. The up and down glance that we notice? It’s from the women who walk by and give us the once-over, not the men who do. We watch each other like hawks. If a woman looks past you quickly, that’s a serious dismissal. On the other hand, if you get a snort, or eye roll, or nasty look, you’ve hit the jackpot - hot outfit, great style, jealous stranger. That’s the yardstick.

I know women are incredibly supportive of each other and whatnot. And it’s true, it is completely true, I know firsthand. Women will listen to you process a phone conversation fifteen different ways and complain about the complexities of your family and the struggles of parenting and dilemmas of work and marriage and sex and feeling fat and why Twilight is actually amazing. Men – not so much. Maybe one of those at a time, for a few minutes, with a pretty good break in between doing it again. Guys have a long refractory period.

That’s with women we know, though. Put us in a group of women we don’t know, and watch the judgments come, especially about clothes and body. Nothing brings the snark out in the ladies like a hot, unknown woman in their midst, or someone trying real hard in the clothing department, or someone not trying at all. Or someone with a really big hat. Or someone with tight clothes. Just like middle school, if you can blend into the group you won’t get the mean looks - in either direction.

We all know it. We’ve all gotten the look, and we’ve all given the look. It makes (some of) us kind of scared, especially in the fashion realm. And that’s the other big thought behind my impulse to dress down and quietly. I worry I’ll stand out or look stupid or look like I’m trying. I worry people will talk about me. I worry I’ll look out of place. I don’t feel confident. So I wear jeans and clogs and a sweater, and it works. No one notices, but I feel un-notice-able, and kind of small. Not very brave, even though I’m wearing my armor.

Dress, Target; Socks and Leggings, H+M, Boots, Steve Madden; Jacket, J. Crew