I work hard for the body in which I live. Granted, I have insecurities about the way I look on a regular basis. I do feel genuine concern about the way in which others, especially my peers, see me. However, I’ve seen my body do incredible things, and on a rare occasion, I have the confidence to throw on a crop top that shows off my stomach and some leggings that hug my ass. I catch a glimpse of my reflection as I walk past a window and I feel good about my body. I admittedly enjoy some of the attention that seems to follow my particular choice of dress, but mostly I relish the feeling of living in a strong body.
There’s a problem. To myself, I’m dressing to showcase a brief confidence. Those positive sentiments end very quickly outside of my own mind. To my mother, I’m dressing to rebel against her parental authority. To my friends, I’m dressing to attract the attention of the opposite sex. To the opposite sex, I’m dressing to subtly suggest that I wouldn’t mind heading back to a dorm room for a quick bang and maybe a pop-tart. Quite frankly, none of the opinions hold any accuracy. I have some choice words for my mother who calls me to announce her disapproval in my attire, my friends who tell me I look “aggressive,” and my male peers who grab my ass in the middle of their frat without at least a cordial introduction.
Mom, I promise I am still undermining the values you taught me as a child, but not in the way I dress. That tie dye crop top you saw in the picture posted to Facebook makes my abs look fantastic; that tie die crop top does not express personal disregard for my body. Don’t worry, though. My tattoo of an arctic tern on my ribcage definitely qualifies as the predictable middle finger the the temple that is my body.
My beautiful female peers, instead of looking at my Halloween outfit with disgust, maybe high-five me for having confidence in my appearance. Let me show off my sexy eighties-whatever with pride and applaud a fellow female for rejecting the notion that all women should hate themselves and their bodies.
You nameless young men in the strobe lights of college parties, appreciate the athleticism of my body from afar. You can look, but I didn’t give you permission to touch. Acknowledge that my body isn’t walking sex; it’s hours of hard work spent at the gym. Let the notion cross your minds that I am uninterested in such flirtations and that my crop top isn’t an invitation to smack my ass.
Negative feelings surround revealing clothing, perhaps because it is so engrained to expect people to dislike their bodies. I think all humans should dress to feel comfortable and beautiful. Cover your breasts or let them hang out. I really couldn’t care less. I’m tired of listening to other people make comments about how others dress.
Even Colorado College's campus, a place that should theoretically represent a safe place for expression, echoes with snide remarks about risky outfits and naked skin. Everyone on this campus seems to have an opinion about everything, and that shows the positive characteristics of a liberal arts college, but also the negative characteristics. Debate about Hillary and Bernie. Argue about the state of the nation’s economy. Plan the best way to slow the inevitable destruction of the Earth’s ozone. Discussion promotes learning and growth and epitomizes the essence of a liberal arts education. However, my body, or any other body, is not a part of any class curriculum. It’s not up for discussion.
