I adore clothing, even feminine styles. I rarely wear such items outside, since who has the courage? This may be the moment. Reportedly, gendered fashion is no longer in existence. After two years of wearing lounge pants, guys wish to release their legs.
To gauge the cultural climate, I have borrowed Rowena’s long black skirt and am wearing it around south London to see if anyone minds. Indeed, they do. Men wearing skirts may be trending, but my experience has been awful. Passersby at me with narrowed eyes, as if I were a long division problem.
It appears so effortless on magazine covers. Harry Styles, Pete Davidson, and NBA star Russell Westbrook have broken the rules of clothing, while Kid Cudi, Lewis Hamilton, and Oscar Isaac are all celebrated as straight male skirt royalty. In recent collections, Thom Browne, Raf Simons, Yohji Yamamoto, and Comme des Garçons have pushed the trend. However, catwalks and red carpets are one thing, while Peckham Rye in a maxi dress with a slit is quite another. As a crown, I might as well be wearing a colander.
The skirt itself is outstanding. Open, airy, and refined. “Is this a man’s skirt?” a woman sitting outside a store inquires. I respond “unisex” with a white lie. “It looks nice,” she concludes. It is difficult to determine what someone is thinking based solely on their facial expression. There is an additional problem. In the majority of the world, where temperatures are typically high, it is common for males to wear lightweight clothing over their legs.
Religious clothes often have a dress-like shape. People may be trying to determine whether I’m wearing a jalabiya, jubba, or sarong. I could be a cool priest. Essentially, I am wearing a skirt with an escape clause. It’s time to be daring.
I return Rowena the linen number, and we go shopping. I am drawn to a Lipsy animal-print dress in a thrift store. Rowena, who does not believe in equivocation, retorts, “That’s a Wag prosecco dress” Not your pattern, however.
I select a white and coral midi paisley dress. Sweet, somewhat 1990s, and enjoyable. However, not everyone is convinced. My friend says at home, “Perhaps we should do this,” as he pulls out some pins and raises it by 25 centimeters. She ties my T-shirt into a crop top that exposes my stomach. “That is quite a look.”
I could wear this around art schools and fit in seamlessly. Where would the enjoyment be in that? I visit an old-fashioned fruit and vegetable market in east London. The merchants look, but no one tells me to put away my plums. Similarly, in a crowded dive bar. Some of the elderly patrons do appear a little upset, which is unsettling. I do not wish to offend anyone. However, I only have a skirt on. Men in shorts run shirtless everywhere they like, and no one bats an eye.
On public transportation, no one speaks. However, no one would notice if you wore a pillowcase as a chef’s hat and spoke to a blancmange on the bus. On the street, more interactions occur. An older Chinese woman approaches me to compliment my appearance. I inquire about the length of the skirt. “No. “Nice,” she affirms. What a stud. Another elderly woman yells, “What the hell is that?” in my way.
Youth are generally supportive. “Slay,” a teenage girl hesitantly smiles. There is sufficient “Work it!” to counteract the revulsion. Schoolboys are the worst, bless their afflicted hearts, but the vast majority are merely inquisitive.
I believe that gender roles are prisons and that we should all wear whatever we like. And I doubt I’m alone. I would estimate that nearly 100 percent of the lads in theatre school were there so they could wear dresses. I am confusing two distinct clothes in this sentence. Is there a greater cultural precedent for “man in a dress” than for “man in a skirt”? Dresses have always appealed to me more than skirts due to their greater visual cohesion. In any event, we desire the prohibited.
There may be another explanation for the puzzled expressions. It is unusually chilly and rainy. I am not experiencing a lovely airiness; the wind is thrashing my legs. Perhaps I just appear cold.
Other steep learning curves include how to sit on public transportation (place bag on knees, not between), thigh modesty, and where the devil to keep my belongings. It is nothing short of an excellent lesson in empathy. Everyone should undergo the scrutiny, exposure, and movement restrictions that skirt-wearers endure.
Although the weather is the most unfriendly element I confront, I would not claim that guys wearing skirts are commonplace. The phrase “What the f*** is that?” is dehumanizing and detrimental to one’s self-esteem. I initially shrink. Then I become taller. If you gaze at me, I’ll do the same. But defiance is exhausting, and it saddens me that a guy cannot wear a beautiful garment without adopting this confrontational position. I lack the energy to do that every day. I cannot say what I will wear tomorrow, but one thing is certain: it will have pockets.
