#DresscodePM - A Dumpy Grace Rant

I am tired of being told what to wear...by anyone. I am exhausted by the endless debates over what is, or isn't appropriate attire for grown human beings.

Let me start with a couple of caveats.

Number one - I loathe annoying clothes. I have an almost pathological hatred of:

• tight waist bands
• scratchy labels 
• brassieres - in my opinion there is a special level of hell just for bras
• underwear
• zippers or buttons that pinch
• high heels
• narrow shoes
• clothes that are too hot
• wool
• hats
• bulky scarves
• collars that choke
• heavy clothes
• layers
• jewelry of any kind
• I could go on but I think you get the point.

Number two - as my friends and family will attest with eye rolls and groans, I don't care about fashion. I can't tell Gucci from Joe Fresh or Prada from Payless. I don't notice what other people wear and I mean that literally. I wouldn't remember if you were wearing pants or a dress a few minutes after you left the room. I certainly wouldn't notice the size of the rock on your finger, the length of your skirt, or your whether the streaks in your hair need freshening up.

I really truly don't care about clothes. If I was lucky enough to live in a hot climate, I would happily walk around nude all day.

That being said, I understand that most people get a great deal of pleasure from their clothes. The slippery feel of silk or the jaunty tilt of a fedora really turn some people on. Others love nothing more than a tight corset and a pair of six-inch stilettos. I'm fine with that. Whatever floats your boat.

But, please - don't tell me what I should be wearing. Whether it is the fashion industry, cultural norms or religious edicts, I am sick of being told what I can and cannot wear.

In my particular culture the rule is that I cannot step foot out of the house unless my breasts are tightly bound against my chest. WHY? What is so terrible about letting the girls dangle free? Is it that men might be overcome by desire and attack boob-free women on the street. Really? I think it would take less than an hour before the sight of all those free-ranging breasts would bore the hell out of most men, and if not - then it is the male of the species that need to address their weird obsession with mammary glands. Not my problem.

Religious rules are particularly touchy. Recently, what Muslim women wear on their heads came under attack by our Prime Minister. Hijabs are a loathsome symbol of an anti-woman religion, Harper claimed, and women should not be allowed to wear them when taking the Canadian oath of citizenship. What a dork.

Here's my two cents worth on the head covering topic.

I can remember when I was a little girl, my mother would take us to mass on Sundays. In those days women and girls were expected to cover their heads while men were required to leave their hats at the door. On the rare occasion when I forgot my hat, my mother would slip a tissue from her purse and stick it to the top of my head with a bobby pin. I was a pretty religious kid in those days, but I just couldn't get my mind around why God needed me to have Kleenex plastered to my skull before I could hang out with him.

Being forced to act a certain way, think a certain way, or dress a certain way in order to ostensibly be more pleasing to God did not sit well with me. It didn't make sense to me, and still doesn't. In fact, the power imbalance and need for control inherent in those restrictions eventually severed my relationship with the Catholic church. But that is ME.

YOU are different. If your killer shoes makes you feel great, if your lacy bra gives you confidence or wearing a wig over your natural hair helps you feel closer to your spiritual side, then go for it.

Just please...please...whether you are a priest, an imam, a magazine editor or a politician with your own twisted agenda, stop pushing me around.

I'll wear what I damn well please.