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Dressing up is hard to do

by Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma

My husband often tells a story about the Halloween he dressed up as Dick Tracy.  He was so excited in the days leading up to October 31—which says a lot for the odd boy who didn’t really care for candy—looking forward to the snazzy suit and trench coat.  But when it came time to put on the costume, he discovered it was just a one-piece suit printed on cheap nylon fabric topped off with a molded plastic hat.  Instant Tracy was little more than scratchy flame retardant pajamas.

More and more, the Halloween streets are littered with instant costumes, outfits purchased in a complete set for $14.99 intended to represent Captain Jack Sparrow or a princess or Harry Potter or a cheerleader.  They require little effort and possess a quality that’s apparently intended to compost entirely in three weeks.  This phenomenon seems like a loss to me, not only in terms of the global market by perpetuating the flow of Cheap Plastic Crap, but in terms of turning dress up into a commodified, sale-priced, once-a-year event.

This trend is not limited to Halloween.  There are very few places or events anymore for which the social contract requires dressing up.  Weddings, plays, funerals, the symphony—almost every special event I attend permits a range of attire, from comfy jeans to fancy dresses.  And I regret that there’s nowhere I can go anymore where everyone in attendance has put a large amount of thought, effort and care (not necessarily money) into his or her clothing.  In fact, “casual” has almost become a social virtue in itself.

In large part, I’m sure my longing for a time when there were events for which everyone dressed up is just nostalgia for the rose-colored olden days.  Such nostalgia has only been engorged on the opportunities my husband and I have had in the past few years to dress up for the Carnegie Ball in Three Rivers, Michigan.  Learning how to do pin curls for our 30s mafia outfits and studying Audrey Hepburn’s make up for the 60s movie star costumes has given me new respect for old(er) time elegance.  I do think, however, that beyond nostalgia, this shift can be read as a shifting in the spirit of the age.  We’ve both lost and gained as we’ve changed.

If it’s merely brand snobbery that we’re abandoning in a more casual culture, that’s no great loss. But I don’t feel a sense of sadness on account of missed opportunities to show off expensive clothing or flaunt beauty competitively.  In fact, I think part of the problem is that people in the U.S. and Canada are generally too wealthy; we’ve lost our sense of dressing up for a special occasion.  Why take the time to make an elegant dress for summer weddings when one can just throw on one of several dresses from the Old Navy clearance rack?  We’re so overwhelmed with stuff that we can’t conceptualize bringing out the same special outfit year after year for Christmas Eve. Instant pop cultural Halloween costumes are widely available and so inexpensive that it’s not worth the time to create something from scratch.  And suits and ties have come to represent tailored prisons, as opposed to a gesture of respect and celebration.  

I believe there’s also been a related shift in the way we spend our time.  When going out and socializing was the primary form of leisure, there was simply more time to prepare and more opportunity to informally research a more limited array of options.  Today, our lives are saturated with options that fly by so quickly, we’ve barely had time to invest in one style before it’s outdated.  We’ve also heaped a giant portion of media experiences on top of a requisite social schedule, so that the remaining obligatory gatherings come to be associated with the burden of getting ready on a serious time crunch.  Turning on the TV requires little effort and no special attire; getting dressed up for a wedding is a chore.  And going out to a dance or a play is more often than not just simply out of the question.

At the same time, in dropping a good deal of pretense about dressing up, we’ve gained a sense of diversity and tolerance—in theological terms, hospitality.  How many of us haven’t encountered in some form or another the idea that the church is unwelcoming to those who aren’t properly dressed?  It’s such a prevalent story, in fact, that one of the distinct marks of Christian outreach these days is a pride in come-as-you-are-casual.  And why shouldn’t weddings and funerals and everything in between be open to all people who wish to celebrate or mourn or observe or honor or experience, regardless of their attire?  Such openness creates room for all levels of resources in the broad sense: levels of knowledge, of money, of creativity, of time, of life experience.

I know such hospitality is biblical and good—the lilies of the field, the sparrows in the sky, and the guests at the wedding banquet all tell me so.  And so I don’t think the burden is on any community to be more restrictive, but on us as individuals to be more intentional.  We can honor global equity by having fewer items of clothing in more ethical, well-made, classic styles.  We can honor occasions and the people involved by creating space and time to prepare without the tyranny of the immediate. And we can honor the image of God in us by recognizing the creativity that beckons us to delight in crafting an outfit that suits our bodies, the occasion and the resources at hand, as well as a style that communicates our unique identities.  Admittedly, there’s a fine line between vanity and intentionality, but our best hope is that a sense of worship will encompass all things, from sweat pants to silk ties, from the vows to the tuxes, from head to toe.