The Nekkit Time
I'm not very much into clothing, generally. I consider them mostly functional, and often unnecessary. Their main functions, as I see it, are: 1) make or keep me comfortable; 2) keep other people from hassling me more than necessary. From that view, the idea that I must wear anything, especially any particular thing, just to make someone else happy, seems asinine, and an unwarranted infringement. I think if someone else wants you to wear a particular thing, they should be ready and willing to provide it to you for that purpose, or say nothing: put up or shut up. To the extent that I do wear clothes, I wear whatever works, and don't worry about what it looks like. And I spend money on clothes only to the extent necessary to achieve those basic ends.
I described myself in an online profile some years back as dressing "like every day is laundry day," and that's pretty accurate most days. You know those dumpy clothes you wear when everything else is in the laundry? Yeah, that's most of my clothes, and so it's what I wear most days. Beyond that, clothing serves to amuse me, and if amuses others then that's because it amuses me to do that. I own very little in the way of 'nice' clothes, but a lot of wacky tee-shirts.
That describes my personal philosophy of clothing, not my actual practice. Nor even what I concede is probably a better philosophy and way of living with clothing.
Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy 'good' clothes at times, and even like dressing up sometimes, not just for special occasions. I have often enjoyed clothing for its ability to transform my experience of myself, and I freely admit that I feel smarter in smarter clothes. And I'm fully aware of clothing's effects on other people, and I've often enjoyed the social benefits of nice clothing, as much as it disturbs me how much such a petty thing can influence how people treat each other.
My general dismissiveness towards clothing started at a very young age. I've always had sensitive skin -- my mother said I was "goosey" as a baby and often fussed about clothing -- and don't like having a lot of things against my skin for long periods of times. (Not even my bed. Not even cats.) Anything that touches any part of me for too long becomes very uncomfortable, and it's a rare garment that's comfortable for me to wear all day or longer. That said, it can and does happen, and I unconsciously choose certain favourite garments for this reason, no matter how unsightly they may be to others. I'm much more interested in my own comfort than anyone else's. If pleasing others means that I have to be miserable, then they can wear the 'nice' clothes, as far as I'm concerned.
This goes to the heart of my social attitude toward clothing. It is, after all, merely belts of fabric (or leather, or chainmail, or..) draped over one's human body. I think once a person reaches about three years old, they should grasp that other humans are not actually made of these components, the way cartoon people are -- shirts, pants, and so on -- but instead possess human bodies the same as theirs, only draped with the same sort of draperies that they themselves have, only often looking different. Under it all, we're all naked and basically the same, despite differences in size and shape. Little kids understand this, and run naked all the time; it's only starting around four that they gradually become indoctrinated in the sinister 'grown-up' (ha!) conspiracy of dressing to make other people happy.
The notion that anyone should have to dress -- or not -- in any particular way, just to appeal to others, on any grounds other than rationally functional, is simply asinine to me. The idea that you can get turned down for a job or even fired based just on non-functional considerations of dress that I have to bear the burden for (in cost, hassle, discomfort, etc.) seems extremely childish to me, and it's incredible to me that an entire global society of alleged grown-ups can possibly place so much importance on what kind of things I do or don't drape over my naked human body.
Which is not to suggest that I deliberately flout social standards of dress. I do respect the sensibilities of others, to the extent that I feel I should, and I do dress nice for the right occasions. I'd never be caught dead at a wedding or funeral in a tee-shirt or jeans, unless I was explicitly told that that would be acceptable, and believed I wouldn't be alone in it. I do grasp that I can't really overcome the irrational bias of other people, and there are times when I have to rub blue mud in my bellybutton along with everyone else just to get along and not be driven from the tribe or pushed away when the big herbivore carcass is brought back from the hunt. I get those things, I really do. I think they're stupid, but I'm not ready to die to defend my attitudes towards clothing. I maintain an uneasy compromise with the world; I make occasional concessions, and ask them not to go out of their way to hassle me most of the rest of the time.
That means that, yes, I wear what my bosses want me to, within reason. In our modern society, getting fired is analogous to being pushed away from the carcass, and I want to eat. At the same time, I don't feel I need or deserve more than my share, nor do I desire unusual power, so the social advantages of good dress are largely lost on me, or at least meaningless. I'll dress to keep my bosses quiet, not to impress them.
This has sometimes been ludicrous, however. Once, while working for a (very) large bank, I was asked to wear a skirt the next day. Specifically, I was asked if I owned one, since I'd never worn one there. I almost said, "You mean, one that's not see-through with bells on it?" as that was the only one I owned at the time (other than a pleated PVC miniskirt that I was pretty sure wasn't worth bringing up). Instead, I said, "Sure," and went to the thrift store, where I got a skirt of the kind that I swore I never would: long and straight with minimal pleating, of navy blue wool. Sober and serious. Catholic. I wore it the next day, with whatever I had that might pass for a respectable blouse, as one of the company's two dozen vice presidents walked across the far end of our giant cube farm. Welcome to the ostensibly grown-up corporate world. I never wore it again, and I'm not even sure where it is now.
Where this all leads is to where the title suggests. All else being equal, the best thing to wear is nothing. What I like against my skin is air and water. Skinny dipping is a delicious experience that everyone should do as much as they can; few experiences available to ordinary humans are as viscerally sublime as swimming naked in water that's near body temperature, where you lose track of where your body ends. I once got to rest on a very shallow dam (like, three feet, maybe) while laying in a pool in a woodland stream; I still count it as one of the most relaxing things I've ever done. In my younger and wilder years, I used to drive around naked, too; this is obviously difficult logistically, but it's a very liberating experience. I still go outside naked in thunderstorms sometimes; this is harder to explain, but totally worth it.
I spent most of the last ten years living alone in a half-basement flat with only two windows, which I kept covered all the time. That afforded me the freedom to run around my own home naked all I wanted, which I did a great deal of the time. A couple flats before that was a second-floor walk-up with cafe shutters on tall windows, and my windows were arranged at a level in between those of the triple-decker next door. This meant that I could close the shutters, still have the top of the windows open for light, and no one could really see inside. So I got to run around naked there, too.
Not so much right now. I'm not living alone right now, and I'm not alone at home much either. And there are windows on all sides, that are normally open. Except this week. This week, I'm taking full advantage of having the place to myself, and that means, in this late-summer warmth, no clothes, as much as I can get away with it. The only problem I've run into is that I occasionally have to deal with cats who want to be escorted in or out; it's irritating to have to get dressed just to do this, but it's a small price to pay for the overall freedom and enjoyment I've had this week.
I've got just one more whole day to myself, and expect to be out working starting tomorrow, so today is special. If you think you might want to visit, please call ahead.
I described myself in an online profile some years back as dressing "like every day is laundry day," and that's pretty accurate most days. You know those dumpy clothes you wear when everything else is in the laundry? Yeah, that's most of my clothes, and so it's what I wear most days. Beyond that, clothing serves to amuse me, and if amuses others then that's because it amuses me to do that. I own very little in the way of 'nice' clothes, but a lot of wacky tee-shirts.
That describes my personal philosophy of clothing, not my actual practice. Nor even what I concede is probably a better philosophy and way of living with clothing.
Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy 'good' clothes at times, and even like dressing up sometimes, not just for special occasions. I have often enjoyed clothing for its ability to transform my experience of myself, and I freely admit that I feel smarter in smarter clothes. And I'm fully aware of clothing's effects on other people, and I've often enjoyed the social benefits of nice clothing, as much as it disturbs me how much such a petty thing can influence how people treat each other.
My general dismissiveness towards clothing started at a very young age. I've always had sensitive skin -- my mother said I was "goosey" as a baby and often fussed about clothing -- and don't like having a lot of things against my skin for long periods of times. (Not even my bed. Not even cats.) Anything that touches any part of me for too long becomes very uncomfortable, and it's a rare garment that's comfortable for me to wear all day or longer. That said, it can and does happen, and I unconsciously choose certain favourite garments for this reason, no matter how unsightly they may be to others. I'm much more interested in my own comfort than anyone else's. If pleasing others means that I have to be miserable, then they can wear the 'nice' clothes, as far as I'm concerned.
This goes to the heart of my social attitude toward clothing. It is, after all, merely belts of fabric (or leather, or chainmail, or..) draped over one's human body. I think once a person reaches about three years old, they should grasp that other humans are not actually made of these components, the way cartoon people are -- shirts, pants, and so on -- but instead possess human bodies the same as theirs, only draped with the same sort of draperies that they themselves have, only often looking different. Under it all, we're all naked and basically the same, despite differences in size and shape. Little kids understand this, and run naked all the time; it's only starting around four that they gradually become indoctrinated in the sinister 'grown-up' (ha!) conspiracy of dressing to make other people happy.
The notion that anyone should have to dress -- or not -- in any particular way, just to appeal to others, on any grounds other than rationally functional, is simply asinine to me. The idea that you can get turned down for a job or even fired based just on non-functional considerations of dress that I have to bear the burden for (in cost, hassle, discomfort, etc.) seems extremely childish to me, and it's incredible to me that an entire global society of alleged grown-ups can possibly place so much importance on what kind of things I do or don't drape over my naked human body.
Which is not to suggest that I deliberately flout social standards of dress. I do respect the sensibilities of others, to the extent that I feel I should, and I do dress nice for the right occasions. I'd never be caught dead at a wedding or funeral in a tee-shirt or jeans, unless I was explicitly told that that would be acceptable, and believed I wouldn't be alone in it. I do grasp that I can't really overcome the irrational bias of other people, and there are times when I have to rub blue mud in my bellybutton along with everyone else just to get along and not be driven from the tribe or pushed away when the big herbivore carcass is brought back from the hunt. I get those things, I really do. I think they're stupid, but I'm not ready to die to defend my attitudes towards clothing. I maintain an uneasy compromise with the world; I make occasional concessions, and ask them not to go out of their way to hassle me most of the rest of the time.
That means that, yes, I wear what my bosses want me to, within reason. In our modern society, getting fired is analogous to being pushed away from the carcass, and I want to eat. At the same time, I don't feel I need or deserve more than my share, nor do I desire unusual power, so the social advantages of good dress are largely lost on me, or at least meaningless. I'll dress to keep my bosses quiet, not to impress them.
This has sometimes been ludicrous, however. Once, while working for a (very) large bank, I was asked to wear a skirt the next day. Specifically, I was asked if I owned one, since I'd never worn one there. I almost said, "You mean, one that's not see-through with bells on it?" as that was the only one I owned at the time (other than a pleated PVC miniskirt that I was pretty sure wasn't worth bringing up). Instead, I said, "Sure," and went to the thrift store, where I got a skirt of the kind that I swore I never would: long and straight with minimal pleating, of navy blue wool. Sober and serious. Catholic. I wore it the next day, with whatever I had that might pass for a respectable blouse, as one of the company's two dozen vice presidents walked across the far end of our giant cube farm. Welcome to the ostensibly grown-up corporate world. I never wore it again, and I'm not even sure where it is now.
Where this all leads is to where the title suggests. All else being equal, the best thing to wear is nothing. What I like against my skin is air and water. Skinny dipping is a delicious experience that everyone should do as much as they can; few experiences available to ordinary humans are as viscerally sublime as swimming naked in water that's near body temperature, where you lose track of where your body ends. I once got to rest on a very shallow dam (like, three feet, maybe) while laying in a pool in a woodland stream; I still count it as one of the most relaxing things I've ever done. In my younger and wilder years, I used to drive around naked, too; this is obviously difficult logistically, but it's a very liberating experience. I still go outside naked in thunderstorms sometimes; this is harder to explain, but totally worth it.
I spent most of the last ten years living alone in a half-basement flat with only two windows, which I kept covered all the time. That afforded me the freedom to run around my own home naked all I wanted, which I did a great deal of the time. A couple flats before that was a second-floor walk-up with cafe shutters on tall windows, and my windows were arranged at a level in between those of the triple-decker next door. This meant that I could close the shutters, still have the top of the windows open for light, and no one could really see inside. So I got to run around naked there, too.
Not so much right now. I'm not living alone right now, and I'm not alone at home much either. And there are windows on all sides, that are normally open. Except this week. This week, I'm taking full advantage of having the place to myself, and that means, in this late-summer warmth, no clothes, as much as I can get away with it. The only problem I've run into is that I occasionally have to deal with cats who want to be escorted in or out; it's irritating to have to get dressed just to do this, but it's a small price to pay for the overall freedom and enjoyment I've had this week.
I've got just one more whole day to myself, and expect to be out working starting tomorrow, so today is special. If you think you might want to visit, please call ahead.