Because I have a morbid fascination with pouring proverbial fuel on the proverbial fire and watching people run around with their hair figuratively on fire (love that image?), here’s a thought on the whole “women-in-pants” thing.
Let’s be completely honest about it. Strip away all the talk about modesty, about how paradoxically women wearing pants are both more slutty and more manly, and all the rest, and come clean that what really motivates people to say women shouldn’t wear pants is the same fascination with the 1950s as some mythical golden age of the Church and society and that if only all women acted like June Cleaver and Donna Reed all would be right with the world again.
Because if we’re going to go there, then we have to insist that all men wear fedoras and suits and smoke pipes and drink Scotch when they get home from work (actually, that’s not a bad idea…) and all young boys have to run about in short pants with slingshots in their back pockets and on and on.
Meanwhile, people who actually lived in the 1950s can tell us what it was really like and how the mythical golden age is in fact a myth.