| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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June / July 2006 Contest Results |
School
Fashion Cops
By
Carol MacAllister, New Jersey
Polyester
double-knit burst onto the 70s fashion scene in the shape of men’s
leisure suits, spongy backed trench coats, shirts and neckties.
Inexpensive, beefy waffle-weaves and plaid designs in every imaginable
color with large buttons and wide lapels costumed men across all social
boundaries defying the term “fine-tailoring.” Polyester’s no-wrinkle
feature, wash and wear and easy alterations popularized the synthetic
fabric.
Shortly
thereafter, pantsuits for women blossomed. Enthusiastically, I purchased
a tailored, long-sleeve, red and white micro-checked pantsuit. My
hip-length jacket hung neatly over cling-free slacks. As an art teacher,
this fashionable alternative allowed me more modesty and freedom of
motion in the classroom and also improved my finances. I no longer
snagged my pantyhose daily on wooden desks.
Within two days, my pantsuit became the focal point of an emergency
teacher’s meeting called by the high school principal, Mr. Carey, and
the district superintendent, Mr. Bradshaw. “Pantsuits are considered
inappropriate dress for high school teachers.”
Men faculty who
ogled at miniskirts and legs voiced negative comments about the
“unprofessional, casual attitudes” that would emerge from those who wore
pantsuits in the workplace.
Next day, two
more women teachers were cited as inappropriately dressed when they wore
them to work. Voices laced with male dominance rattled in unreceptive
ears. Women’s pantsuits grew unstoppable much to the chagrin of drill
sergeants turned teachers.
Polyester
pantsuits sold like wildfire. Suddenly, new fabrics arrived in stores to
replace thick virgin polyester clothing. I think manufacturers realized
long-wearing, indestructible polyester had caused a financial down-turn
in the fashion industry.
I remember
younger generations turned to the new natural fibers, those kids who
stood smiling in puckered cotton while gnawing on trail mix and yogurt.
Designers transformed pantsuits into flowing rayon slacks and
long-tailed co-ordinates worn over shells. This style held appeal for
me. My old lady shape was disguised under deceptively slimming two-piece
coordinates and loose fitting tank dresses reminiscent of Momma Cass’s
caftans: those worn by old blues singers to cover-up aging’s
disproportionate figure problems: thunder-buns, menopausal pot belly and
bat wing upper arms.
Mrs. Haggard, my
grade school music teacher had bat wing flaps. I watched the fascinating
jiggles and ripples of her hanging flesh dance in tempo as she directed
our orchestra. Skinny teachers paraded past with odd assortments of
straps slipping out and binding their upper arm movements. As a kid, I
never understood why the school fashion cops allowed matronly teachers
to wear revealing sleeveless dresses and blouses. You could look right
into the armholes and see their underwear. Sleevelessness distracted my
education.
While seated at
the high school emergency pantsuit meeting, I thought back to those
times and wondered why my administration hadn’t blacklisted
sleevelessness. The faculty fiasco didn’t rattle me much. I’d been
pre-conditioned to dress codes as a teenager when my school’s student
council handed out lists of appropriate clothing for kids. Finely
constructed subcategories and defining points caused me adolescent
nightmares based on showing up at school inappropriately dressed. And, I
did just that.
The dip of my
blue v-neck sweater was one inch too low. My naked collarbone was issued
a warning notice along with a lecture from the vice principal, in his
office, while his eyes seemed to drift from my v-neck.
Now, I enjoy
observing the freedom of student’s and teacher’s dress, but I know
polyester lives. I’ve seen wear-like-iron polyester leisure suits and
pilled plaids basking in retirement communities across the United
States. I know polyester lingers in basements and attics, Salvation Army
warehouses and in the third-world countries where I sent my donations of
disaster-relief clothing.
Hundreds of
years from now, archaeologists will unearth pieces of my red and white
checked pantsuit on an African plain. They’ll foolishly marvel at how
well-preserved the fiber and color have survived. I can imagine the
Discovery channel commentary: “Due to temperature and climate, this
colorful ceremonial cloth, woven in symbolic geometric designs, remains
intact.”
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