Modesty

I grew up in a reasonably conservative family. When my dad was a teenager, he was one of the first to be allowed to play guitar in his church. For us as kids, Halloween was about dressing up as fun, wholesome characters such as Laura Ingalls Wilder or a jelly bean jar. No skeletons, witches, ghosts, period. While we heard about Santa Claus from other kids, we didn’t do Santa at home, and we certainly never did anything with the Easter Bunny. Easter was a time for family and remembering the Resurrection.

Clothing was similar. I don’t remember ever wanting to wear clothes with skulls, but it certainly would not have been allowed. My sister and I were expected to wear our Sunday best to church, and that meant no trousers or skorts, even nice ones. Lacy collars were a definite bonus. I don’t remember really arguing about the guidelines or feeling restricted.

When we moved to Nigeria when I was nine years old, we had to adapt our clothing somewhat. We were coming from Los Angeles, where we could wear shorts and tank tops most of the year. While we were allowed to wear shorts at our Christian school in Nigeria, they had to be long, and tank top sleeves had to be several inches wide. Outside of school, if we went walking in the community or to market, we had to wear long skirts. And in Nigerian church, we had to cover our heads with scarves. I’d say we both adapted pretty well. My mom might have a more accurate memory, but I don’t remember complaining too much. I learned to want to dress modestly. At our Christian school we heard a lot about modesty and how women should not dress provocatively to cause men to stumble. Made sense. No argument there.

After I graduated from high school, I spent the summer camping with my aunt and uncle and wore my cousin’s hand-me-downs, mostly stylish and shorter shorts than I was used to.  My aunt had to buy me my first pair of “real jeans,” since the only ones I’d had in high school had an elastic waist. By the time I got to college in the Chicago area, though, there were only a few weeks left of weather warm enough for shorts and bare arms. For the next four years, I dressed perhaps more modestly than ever. I fell in love with jeans, turtlenecks, and sweaters. I was all about comfort and had almost zero interest in style. Whatever I could get free at our college’s clothes swap was awesome. I was probably one of very few who wore only skirts and dresses to church, even in the winter. One summer, two friends got me a spaghetti-strap shirt as a gag gift because they knew I’d never wear it. I did end up wearing it when I drove long-distance but always put a shirt on over it when I got out of the car. It made me feel so exposed when I was around other people, but it was super comfortable for summer driving on my own.

Now, eight years later, I wear spaghetti straps and shorts that are above the knee. I even have some skirts that are above the knee. And I have a couple pairs of flowy dress trousers that I wear to church. What happened?? Do I dress provocatively? Hardly. On the other hand, I am hardly ever around men besides my husband, so if I feel comfortable without sleeves, why not wear what I want to? Will I ever wear a bikini? Not likely. Will I ever wear a halter top or show my tummy? I don’t think so. Will I ever wear something with a plunge neckline? Um, no thanks. But I am curious what has changed about my worldview that has caused such a visual change in clothes. Mostly I still wear longish shorts and t-shirts in the summer, and 3/4-sleeve sweaters and jeans in the winter. I still dress mostly for comfort and low cost. But my boundaries have moved back a bit. Why?