The British MP and her shoulder to cry over
I’ve never been envious of men’s fashion. Largely because most men between the ages of 25 and 45 seem to have three outfits. A blue suit for work, a tee with boardies for everything else, and a chequered blue shirt with jeans for the odd occasion when pants are mandatory. And it has to be seriously, seriously, your-mumspecifically-called-you-and-told-you-to-wear-them formal for pants to be considered mandatory.
But there is one card men can play in polite society that women can’t, and that’s the ‘‘dishevelled chic’’ look. Well, not if we want to be taken seriously at anything, at all, ever.
I think the best example of this is Boris Johnson, who despite being the UK’s prime minister almost always looks like he slept last night in a skip. Of course it’s deliberate. BoJo is careful to mess up his hair before public appearances, all to project the kind of casually calculated charm that says, ‘‘I’m far too busy and important to worry about my appearance.’’
And yet, if any woman tried to run the country looking like they’d just been dragged out of a bush, there’d be a hundred headlines on why she’s too ‘‘tired and emotional’’ for the job.
If you needed any more proof that windswept rakish chic only works for men, look at British MP Tracy Brabin, who’s in the middle of the everevolving viral #shouldergate scandal.
Basically, the shadow culture secretary had been attending a music event (for work) that evening, before having to unexpectedly head to the Commons to protest eloquently against selective press briefings by No 10 staff. She was wearing a smart dress with an asymmetric neckline skimming one shoulder, which was bang on for the job she’d just come from.
As she leaned on the lectern to speak (she’s got a broken ankle), the dress slipped further down her shoulder, leaving the scandalous body part fully exposed. And smelling salts were then fetched for the entire British public who were overwhelmed by her moral depravity.
Essentially, Brabin had a slight, milkmaid moment of messy charm. She briefly evoked the crackling, electric energy that animated women get at parties – you know, when we’re expounding so passionately that our shoulder strap slips and we have to hoik it back up mid-monologue.
The same carefree, passionate energy that heralds BoJo as a breath of fresh air caused the British public to froth that Brabin was a ‘‘slapper’’, ‘‘hungover tart’’, and someone who’d just been ‘‘banged over a wheelie bin’’. Naturally, if you’re a woman in politics, we’d prefer it if you were buttoned up at all times please, preferably to the eyebrows, preferably in a diving suit, and preferably you’d be a man.
The tragedy of it all isn’t just that women can’t evoke devilishly dishevelled charm like men can. We’ve always known that if we want to look too cool to care, and taken seriously, our only option is the kind of painstaking minimalism epitomised by New York magazine editors who only have three hours a day to devote to looking so nonchalant.
And it’s not even that surprising that the general public could be so relentlessly vile to a talented MP who was simply doing her job. Thanks to Twitter, we’ve all seen the depths of casual human nastiness. Especially when it comes to women doing, well, anything.
Whatever our look, it always says something. Men enforce it on us, women enforce it on us ...
The real bummer about the whole thing is that once again it’s a depressing reminder to all women that your body is never neutral. It constantly carries a message about your character. The Left may tease BoJo for looking scruffy, but the majority of the public don’t see his outward physical sloppiness as a sign of internal moral sloppiness. If anything, they see it as proof he’s a sexy breath of fresh air. Whereas with Brabin, her shoulder slipping out heralds her as a hoe.
It’s just exhausting to be reminded constantly that our bodies are always going to be big fleshy billboards for whatever messages society thinks it sees in us. If you’re too fat then you’re lazy, if you’re too thin then you’re vain, if you’re too sensible then you’re frumpy, and if you’re too skimpy then you’re slutty. Whatever our look, it always says something. Men enforce it on us, women enforce it on us, we enforce it on ourselves.
And don’t get me wrong, sometimes it’s fun to be able to say fabulous things about ourselves through our bodies. I feel sorry more men can’t experience the joy of feathers. But on a day-to-day level, constantly saying something is exhausting to the point of madness. And can often lead to starving or injecting or thrashing our bodies in the pursuit of an ideal message.
Sometimes it would be nice to say nothing with our bodies and just exist.