Photo from http://www.
The
enforcement of school dress codes aimed largely at girls and young women have
been making headlines recently. Female students – or their justifiably irate
parents – have lately taken en masse to social media, posting photos of the
outfits that got them sent home, often accompanied by the hashtag
#IAmMoreThanADistraction.
The
outrage stems from the realization that we are teaching our young women that
their learning and freedom are less important than that of their male counterparts,
and reinforcing the long-standing myth that it is up to women to conceal
themselves so that men won’t have to control themselves. And it is, indeed,
outrageous. My research centers on sexual assault prevention, so I can say with
certainty that these myths do not go away. They start early, they are
continually reinforced, and they support rape culture, victim-blaming, and
slut-shaming throughout the lifespan and our society.
I
remember dress codes when I was in middle and high school. I remember applying
the “fingertip test” to my skirts, and the “two finger” test to my tank top
straps. I remember fuming in the counselor’s office, and thinking, as I often
did while waiting to leave for college, One
day none of this will matter.
Unfortunately,
now I am the counselor, and that day has yet to arrive. Just this month, I was
sent home from my first practicum site because my dress was too short. My
supervisor, herself an intern, pulled me aside and said that other staff not
comfortable with addressing me personally had told her that I had to go home
and change. No matter that I was in meetings all morning and leaving at noon,
without a client in sight. No chance for discussion. No choice but to leave and
return, humiliated, an hour later…wearing pants.
I
have obsessed about the details of the situation. The dress I was wearing
passed every arbitrary test of length. On the whole, I thought the outfit was
appropriate and professional. I wasn’t
even seeing clients!, I cried. So and
so’s dress is shorter! None of this is the point.
The
point is not what I was wearing but how I was treated because of it. I was
informed of its inappropriateness by a third party and given no choice in the
matter. Given the circumstances, the punishment was excessive and shaming.
Because of the way it was handled, I now feel self-conscious and fearful when I
get dressed for work. I don’t know which of my coworkers raised the original
objection, so I view them all with suspicion. In short, it was disrespectful,
hurtful, and not how I am used to being treated.
Needless
to say, posts about dress codes and the slut-shaming of young women suddenly
gained a lot of immediacy in my newsfeed. I thought about all the other
projects I’m engaged in this fall; leading seminars for undergraduates on
empowerment and assertiveness; heading a research team whose mission is
creating positive understandings of sexuality; guiding multiple young, female
clients through recovery from trauma, assault, and fear. How can I do any of
that when I can still get sent home from work without even the dignity of a
direct conversation? How can I help others to become strong women, when I was
so quickly reduced to a level of powerlessness and humiliation that I haven’t
felt since I was a child?
Or
rather, how can I not? Once the hurt
had faded, I realized: this is exactly why
my line of research is needed. Indignation, once sparked, began to steadily
burn away my shame, and I was left more eager than ever to get back to my work,
especially that which focuses on empowering other women.
In
considering this work, and work generally, I want to make clear that I
understand why dress codes exist, and why as a future psychologist, conducting
myself within the boundaries of professionalism is so crucial. Training from a
Feminist perspective, I am constantly aware of how I impact my clients. When I
worked at a residential facility for adolescents with eating disorders, did I
refrain from wearing the kinds of form-fitting clothing they were denied?
Certainly. Not to do so would have been cruel. When I had a client whose
religion forbade women from wearing makeup, did I stop wearing lipstick to
sessions? Absolutely not. We processed the crap out of it, but absolutely not.
In
short, I dress for myself, but I also dress for work with my clients’ best
interests in mind. I would not wear anything that I thought would be
triggering, distracting, or harmful to their progress. But I also don’t leave
my identity at the door. My orientation won’t allow it and my values wouldn’t
want to. I don’t aim to be a blank slate, and addressing the interplay of our respective
identities has proved to be a powerful tool in strengthening the therapeutic
alliance, as with the above example of the lipstick.
I am who I am, I care about my work, and I
don’t need an Indiana
mole woman gown to prove it. I deserve respect, compassion, and courteous
treatment every bit as much as my clients: and so do the younger women who
experience the same consequences (and worse) every day for their attire. As a
Feminist psychologist-in-training, I work to embody the ideals that I espouse
via my research and my practice. I want to be the things I help other women be:
empowered, assertive, and strong.
I
want to tell younger women that dress codes, and other gender-biased rules,
aren’t just something you have to put up with until you graduate: they follow
you everywhere. The fight that young women and their families are beginning,
school by school, district by district, is not just inspirational. It’s essential.
Sexism starts young, and so empowerment must start young, too.
So
young women, please, keep fighting. You are so much more than a distraction:
and so am I.
Written by Natalie Raymond, B.A.
Written by Natalie Raymond, B.A.
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