Women’s clothing is designed pretty poorly: And why it’s partially my fault


by Tyler Fransen

    Ladies, we need to talk about your clothing. Now wait, wait, wait, I know what you are thinking. Yes, I realize the irony in the fact that I, a herterosexual white man, am talking about women’s clothing. But think of this ladies, as less of a critique on your wardrobe and more of an apology. An apology from men like me everywhere, who to some degree, designed your clothes for you.

I am not referring to me personally, if I so much as look at a sewing machine my fingers start to bleed. I could not tell you the difference between a harlequin pattern and a- another pattern. But if I am going to apologize for men everywhere, let me first explain what I am apologizing for.

For starters, ladies, why do your pants never have decent size pockets? I own multiple pairs of cargo shorts (much to the dismay of my dating life), and I can fit just about anything in them. This includes: my wallet, my phone, my phone charger, my portable charger, my sunscreen, my bug-spray and all three seasons of “Arrested Development” on DVD. Your pants however, can not fit anything more than a nickel, and who uses nickels anymore?

I hate to say this, and this is the first apology, your pants are designed not to fit anything so that you have to buy expensive purses, and for that, I am sorry.

Secondly ladies, what is the deal with wedding dresses? A guy can wear a suit to a wedding, the next day wear it to a business conference and the day after that wear it to a funeral. Plus he can then wear it around town whenever he wants to make himself feel important without receiving judgmental looks.

But if someone were to wear their wedding dress on any other occasion, outside of their own wedding, people would think they were crazy! Can you imagine if you were in your wedding dress headed to an important meeting? You walk in the board room; your glowing white gown dragging across the floor behind you. Your boss looks at you funny; you step on it while giving the quarterly reports- it is a nightmare.

A guy can also wear a suit to his wedding, and someone else’s wedding. But may God most high have mercy on your soul if you even dare show up to someone else’s wedding in a white colored dress, much less your wedding dress!

And let us not forget that a guy’s suit can be relatively cheap, or expensive, but still multifaceted. A wedding dress’ starting price can be well over $1,000, and that is just the base model. But you do not want the base model; it is your special day! It is the day your two families unite as one! You do not want to be caught dead in some old rag, no! You blow your entire life savings and spring for that $6,000 ball gown with the diamond sequins because darn it all, it is your day!

And then you can never wear that dress again so it just sits in your closet for the rest of your adult life.

I am sorry, but if I am going to spend $6,000 on something I am only going to use once, it better be a round trip cruise from Miami to San Diego.

So, for designing wedding dresses that are only used once and cost an arm and a leg, I am sorry.

Finally, there is the pressing issue of what constitutes a “sexy” or “beautiful” body. We tend to think of the skinny super-model as being the pinnacle of beauty. All too often the media (of which I work for) portrays women as objects rather than people. We tell little girls everywhere that if they want to look pretty they need to buy this makeup with this dress, and if they shop now they can get 40 percent off these shoes that will make their ankles break and their feet swell. Well ladies, I say to hell with it all!

If you want to walk around campus in your ugliest and most comfortable of sweat pants, go for it! If you have nothing better to wear but a chili-stained t-shirt and cargo shorts, go for it! If there is nothing you would rather do than binge watch “Game of Thrones” with a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in your underwear, gosh darn it, go for it!

Because in the end, we are but tiny specs on a tiny rock hurdling through space, so we might as well be comfortable. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go call my mother and tell her what I lousy son I am.


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