Hide Your Boobies

I don’t like the word modesty. It makes me cringe. It’s a word used to subjugate women, to dehumanize and demoralize them.

“Modesty” reminds me of the Christian girls’ conference I went to when I was around 10 or so, where we were taught how to dress appropriately in order to not lead “our Christian brothers into sin.”

“Modesty” reminds me of all the countless times I had been told that it was my responsibility to cover my body, to hide it, to be ashamed of it, because if I dared to wear shorts that were too short or a shirt that was too tight or too low cut, then I would cause the poor boys/men who simply could not control themselves or their thoughts to sin. These poor males would succumb to sinful thoughts if I wore the wrong swimsuit. These same males which I could not speak against, that I was expected to let them lead, even if they were leading me wrong.

The only time that I, a girl, could lead was when I was leading them into temptation. I am the Delilah who will cut your sacred, magic hair, so my skirt has to be longer than my fingertips!

“Modesty” reminds me of one time in dance class when my dance teacher made sure the boys weren’t in the room when she told us that the current stretch we were doing would strengthen our pelvic muscles, which would be important for when we had children. Afterwards, I expressed my confusion and displeasure to my mother that she couldn’t say that in front of the boys, and my mom said, “well, boys that age don’t need help thinking about those things.”

What part of that was inappropriate, suggestive, or even sexual? I assume that just as we, the girls, were assumed to have children one day, that they, the boys, were supposed to be ones impregnating us. I assume that one day they were expected to be sitting by their wife in the hospital, holding her hand, as she used those pelvic muscles to push out his son that would continue the family name for the glory of God, or whatever.

If the mention of birth sexually arouses a twelve year old boy, then I think, perhaps, the entire concept of birth hasn’t been properly explained to him. So allow me:

There are two kinds of birth:

1. Vaginal birth. This is where the baby is pushed through out of the uterus through the vagina. If the person giving birth is lucky, they will only tear a little bit. If they are not lucky, they will tear a lot.

2. A cesarean section. This is where an incision is made in the pregnant person’s abdomen, and the baby is pulled out of their uterus through the hole in their midriff. The recovery is likely to be slow and painful, and they will have a large scar across their body.

I guess bringing up the bloody, painful, traumatic miracle of childbirth reminds people that to get to that hot mess there was sex involved around 9 months ago. Sexy.

The word “modesty” reminds me that it has always been my responsibility to keep a man from sinning against his god. It reminds me that the first question asked when someone talks about sexual assault or harassment is, “Well, what was she wearing?” It reminds me of the man in one of my college classes who announced he wouldn’t wear a Rolex in North Philly, so a woman shouldn’t wear a miniskirt at night--because that’s “asking for trouble.” (Just in case you wanted to add racism to your sexism argument, this is how you do it.)

This morning when I got dressed, I put on a tank top to wear under my sweater. My sweater is low-cut, and you can see the top of the tank above the sweater’s neckline. I did not make this fashion choice to be modest. In fact, it made me angry when I looked at myself and realized it looked like I was trying to be modest. I’m not. I pulled the tank down lower, so that it didn’t show as much, so that my breasts could be seen a little more, so I looked a little less modest.

The truth is, I put on this tank top this morning because I’m wearing jeans today. I don’t like jeans very much. They’re uncomfortable. If I wear them, which isn’t often, I usually require an undershirt that I can tuck into my jeans, something to buffer the hard denim and uncomfortable buttons against my skin when I sit down. I’m wearing a tank top so my jeans will dig into my stomach a little less.

I am not wearing a tank top so that you can pretend I don’t have breasts. Because I do.

In fact, I’ve been breastfeeding for almost 18 months now, which means for the past 18 months, my breasts have actually been useful for something other than the male gaze and causing a lot of physical discomfort when I go down stairs. I really like that my boobs are useful now. Not just do I get to provide nutrients and comfort to my child, but also these lumps of fat on my chest are finally good for something. These fat deposits that I am supposed to hide to keep men from sinning have a very important purpose finally.

Some people find modesty to be empowering, and that’s fine. Others find nakedness to be empowering, and that’s fine too. Personally, I find breastfeeding to be empowering. My breasts, which I have been made to feel ashamed of and hide or told to wear push-up bras to impress, are now getting to be used for their actual, true purpose as a lactating mammal, which is all we are anyways; just mammals with weird boob fetishes and patriarchal religions.

I suppose I do usually dress in ways that would be considered “modest.” I suspect that part of me will always feel a little ashamed and guilty when I don’t. As a former member of the evangelical church, I was indoctrinated to be ashamed. As a survivor, I was made to feel ashamed. As a woman who has heard too many times that my clothing is why I was harassed or assaulted. Because, I guess, that tight dress made my body other people’s property, right?

I hate the word “modesty.”

The word “modesty” means that I am dressing a certain way for another person’s eternal soul or for my own safety.

Listen, I am dressed this way because I am comfortable. My tank top is not meant to hide that I have breasts; it’s so my jeans don’t rub against my belly. It’s not about you; it’s about my sensitive skin!

The word “modesty” takes power away from women and hands it to the oppressors, the assaulters, the rapists. If you call a woman modest, you are taking away her own choices, her intellect, her autonomy to the men who yell the all-original, “Hey baby!” out of their car windows.

Can we please stop using what a woman wears to determine her worth? Please?

I have been called “modest” a lot more than I have been called “slutty,” but it always feels like just as much of an insult.

Just wear what you’re comfortable with and let everyone else do the same. Who knows? Maybe we could all wear leggings and sweatpants to work, wouldn’t that be nice?

And come on, if being reminded that I have breasts makes you sin, it’s your sin and not mine.