I always enjoy learning new things sewing-related. And not too long ago I learned something interesting about fabric. Quite interesting, indeed.
Apparently, fabric can be gay. Now, I never knew that fabric had any sort of sexual orientation. Gay, straight, or whatever. I just thought fabric was happy hanging out on the bolt until someone scooped it up and used it to make something even more fabulous.
Okay, in fairness, I must admit I’m not sure if it’s the fabric itself that is gay (born that way, perhaps?), or if the fabric becomes gay – perhaps, turned gay – during the process of being transformed into an item of clothing. Maybe during all the measuring, cutting, sewing, pressing, and so on, its latent gay tendencies are brought to the surface, no longer content to be closeted. Omg, perhaps that’s where the “in the closet” term comes from?! Fabric, in the form of clothing, is often kept in a closet…..
Despite the fact that I’m not entirely clear on the whole nature versus nurture thing, it’s reassuring to know that there is a sort of clothing police out there, roaming workplaces, astute enough to distinguish between straight and gay clothing, and bold enough to out the gay attire! And thankfully, so very thankfully, my mother was lucky enough to have worked in an establishment where a gaydar-gifted colleague alerted her to the proclivities of her dress.
You might recall that a while back I wrote about my first foray into adult-sized sewing, and my experience sewing the Staple Dress pattern by April Rhodes. I made three Staple Dresses: one for myself and two as gifts for my sister and mother; and used different fabrics designed by Anna Maria Horner for each dress. I love the Staple Dress pattern, mostly for its simplicity. It’s a straight-forward design (bateau-style neckline, shirred waist, slightly A-lined bottom) and works for any figure. The uncluttered design allows the fabric to be the star of the show. I did not anticipate, however, just how much of a standout the fabric I selected for my mother’s dress would be.
For my mother’s Staple Dress, I chose Anna Maria Horner’s Parenthetical in Berry, from her Field Study collection. The fabric is a linen/cotton blend. The dresses I made for myself and my sister were 100% cotton, and while I love my dress, the difference in the way my mother’s dress drapes makes me a bit envious. This fabric comes in two other colorways — dark grey and natural. All three are gorgeous, but I chose the berry color for my mother because I think it’s a color that looks great on her – especially with a bit of a tan!
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My mother proudly wore the dress to work, and, well, it got her some attention. She was confronted in the office and told she was dressed “inappropriately.” She asked what was inappropriate about her attire.
“It’s gay.”
Seriously. In fact the assertion was repeated, without explanation, a couple more times when my mother asked for clarification.
This from a so-called professional. Wow. This is wrong on so many levels. Whether we give him the benefit of the doubt and say his choice of words was sloppy, or believe his words evidence a larger prejudice and a disgusting lack of sensitivity, it still shocks me when people behave this way. It depresses me, too, because somehow this man thought his behavior was actually appropriate, while the woman wearing a birghtly-colored dress, stockings (I always feel like I’m from the 1940s when I say “stockings”), and closed-toe shoes — all in accordance with the office-attire rules — is inappropriate.
My mother no longer works at this establishment. It was a temporary assignment where, ironically, she had been tasked with restoring order to a work environment that the administration acknowledged had become too lax and disorganized and inefficient. My guess is that this man was being spiteful and mean as a passive-aggressive means of objecting to the new authority my mother was attempting to inject into the workplace. He was like a little child sassing off to his parents at the dinner table when really he’s mad and anxious about something else entirely. Child-like behavior, but not excusable.
I admit that of course it doesn’t feel good to have something you made be ridiculed, but this man seems so small-minded that I barely spent a moment being offended. The part that really gets me, though, is how the whole incident likely made my mother feel. To have your attire — the way you look — be criticized in front of others, even if that criticism is misplaced, is embarrassing. It’s hard not to feel like you have somehow done something wrong or to feel shamed. Public-shaming is the behavior of bullies.
Even more though, I think my mother was really proud, the way only a parent can feel, to be wearing something her child made just for her. She knew how excited I was about the dress, and she knows how much I love sewing. Wearing the dress, especially publicly, was a sign of her pride in my creation and her love for me. If I think about it, it has probably been well over 25 years since I brought home something I made for my mother — and back then it was probably some sort of classroom art project for Mother’s Day! And while I believe my parents were proud of me during my days of lawyering, it was a kind of abstract pride. Yes, they were proud that I worked hard and progressed up the career ladder, but there was nothing tangible to share with them from my work. (Hey, mom and dad, I brought you a 150-page loan agreement. How d’ya like that?! Cool, huh?) It makes me sad to think my mom was probably a bit excited to be wearing the dress, and feeling proud of me, and then some curmudgeon came along and pooped on the moment. I realize there is no point crying over hurt feelings, but this whole experience was just so unnecessary that it makes it all the more frustrating.
We’ve come to live in a world where decorum is too often frowned upon as stodgy, where stretch pants are more ubiquitous than jeans, and baseball hats are commonplace at dinner tables. I’m guilty of this myself. T-shirts and jeans have become my “mom uniform”. But I still love getting dressed up. And I truly appreciate my mother dressing up in my creation!
I don’t know, maybe it’s me. Back in my office days, I wore a ton of black. It was just easier – especially considering I wore suits to work a lot of the time — and it’s hard to go wrong with black. But since I’ve started sewing and perusing fabric on a regular basis, I have a much greater appreciation for color. I’ve embraced color and prints in my wardrobe and my sewing. Perhaps my perspective has changed so much that I don’t recognize this particular fabric as crazy, as too bold, as “gay”? What do you think?
