Wynne’s dress code a win-win for ev­ery­body-ev­ery­body

The Lindsay Post - - FORUM - DE­NIS GRIGNON De­nis Grignon is a writer, broad­caster and pro­fes­sional standup co­me­dian. He per­forms this Fa­thers Day, as part of the No Foul Lan­guage Com­edy Tour, at South Pond Farms in Bethany. info at: South­pond­farms.ca

So, Pre­miere Kath­leen Wynne is im­pos­ing a dress code at Queen’s Park. Good on her, I say. I’m a huge fan of cloth­ing and fer­vently be­lieve ev­ery­one should wear some. Un­less, of course, you’re show­er­ing. Or bathing. Or be­ing born. And in that lat­ter in­stance, there’s al­ways some­one nearby to quickly wrap you in some­thing, any­way. And since you’re in no po­si­tion to ob­ject - with your head still be­ing soft and vo­cal chords un­de­vel­oped and all - most of us tend to adopt the cloth­ing-at­most-times life­style at an early age. We are, you could say, born into it.

NEW­BORN: Does this towel come in brown? You see, I’m more of a spring.

NURSE: Well, see­ing as you’re barely older than, you know, zero, why don’t we wait and see what your colour match re­ally is?

NEW­BORN: I sup­pose. But the red doesn’t seem to match the colour of my eyes.

NURSE: Your eye colour is likely go­ing to change any­way.

NEW­BORN: Re­ally? When? NURSE: When your head stops be­ing soft and you learn to speak.

There’s more, of course, to Ms. Wynne’s code of cloth­ing con­duct, which calls for un-tat­tered jeans, shoul­der-cov­er­ing shirts and ab­so­lutely no shorts so short they’d barely cover a gar­den gnome. And it’d be easy to pshaw th­ese reg­u­la­tions as noth­ing more than an out-of-date, up­tight set of rules from a woman who, ad­mit­tedly, can re­mind you of that el­e­men­tary school li­brar­ian you had in 1973. Pos­si­bly, you even imag­ine her fre­quently say­ing “pshaw.” And at the risk of my sound­ing like that nerdy, up­tight kid who never left that li­brary - hid­ing in the sci-fi sec­tion, a mask­ing taped A on his shirt, just like the one Cap­tain Kirk is wear­ing in that Star Trek graphic novel - Ms. Wynne is right; there should be strict cloth­ing reg­u­la­tions in all gov­ern­ment build­ings of all lev­els.

I don’t want to pay a park­ing ticket to a woman who looks like she just walked out of a Lind­say Lo­han video - the mu­sic kind, not the one of her be­ing cuffed and booked - or ap­ply for a build­ing per­mit via some guy who’s wear­ing his favourite Rib Fest 2004 mus­cle shirt.

We’re not talk­ing about gowns and tuxe­dos, here, ei­ther. Or even ties and pumps, for that mat­ter. (Both of which can dis­ap­pear from our fash­ion­scape and we’d be the bet­ter for it). The pre­miere is merely im­pos­ing a pro­fes­sional ap­pear­ance in a pro­fes­sional mi­lieu that, well, is be­fit­ting of the word mi­lieu. (Most pro­vin­cial ser­vices, af­ter all, are avail­able en français).

ME: Hi. Do you know where I re­new my driver’s li­cense?

GOV’T EM­PLOYEE: Right here. That’s why I’m on the other side of this glass wicket.

ME: Oh. I thought maybe, given the tube top you’re wear­ing, you were sell­ing Fris­bees.

GE: First of all, they’re called discs, Dude. And this is Ex­tremely Rad­i­cal Gnarly and Ca­sual Fri­day.

ME: Uh, then I’ll come back Mon­day, sir.

In­deed, Toronto Mayor Rob Ford might be even be wise to in­clude a dress code that re­quires him to wear fire-re­tar­dant fab­ric, with a colour scheme that works well dur­ing poorly-lit cam­era shoots. But as of press time, no such rule had yet been im­posed at Canada‘s largest city hall and all ques­tions on dress codes were, al­legedly, be­ing re­ferred to Mr Ford’s brother and a high school run­ning back.

So hat’s off to our pre­miere for her stance. You know, pro­vided it’s a hat that meets the dress code.

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