Excuse me, do these effectively hide my thunder? An Impassioned Debate for Denim Democracy

I’m a crusader for gender equality. While there are obvious issues that I won’t touch in this blog because of their contentious nature, I’m here to argue for the more ridiculous ones. For instance, the other day I was in the car with my good friends Emily and Kleidman in DC. I casually mentioned it being so hot I was going to take my pants off (standard conversation starter). Kleidman and Emily then proceeded to tell me that if a man takes his pants off in public it’s a crime that could land him a permanent label as a sex offender, even if he was just doing it to take a leak. Yet, if I were to take my pants off, I’d get a maximum penalty of public indecency. I don’t think it’s fair that my junk is less meritorious of a sex offender status than my male counterpart’s parts.

I’ve been angered by ‘women drinking free’ or ‘women pay less cover’ at bars for years, when men have not only had to pay full price for their drinks, but also buy those for the women, who could obviously afford to pay for a man’s drink. I thought I’d grow some acceptance into this inequality until a new cause was brought to my attention: summer attire.

It’s hot as shit outside. I didn’t want to take my pants off for any other reason in Dupont Circle but that it was blazing. My roommate Dani recently informed me that her office has Jeans Fridays. It’d be great, she proclaimed, if it wasn’t so goddamn hot outside. Who wants to wear jeans in a Maryland summer? I suggested that maybe she could bend the rules to include denim skirts or jean shorts. And then I got to thinking, why is it okay for women to wear jean shorts, but we ridicule the men who do?

Jorts. In the basic form.

I bombarded Clyde with my questions and he gave me some excellent background. Jorts were really popular and even socially acceptable in the 90s. Everyone wore them, even him (sorry for outing you). They were durable and you could go forever without washing them. But like most good trends, people abused them. Essentially, jorts were over worn and now laughable. Desperate for more feedback, I asked Cliff and Jeff later at band practice. Simultaneously, they both responded, YES! And NEVER!, respectively. From what I gather, jorts are a regional thing, as well as a generational garb. Michigan-bred guys like Cliff wear jorts, Marylanders like Jeff, don’t. However, I was pleased to find out that Cliff adorned his jorts with a red racing stripe on the side.

I laugh when I see men in jorts now. According to many of my friends, jorsts are pretty much reserved solely for hillbillies and rednecks. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dani and I started a points game for jorts in public spotting. Yet, I can’t help but feel guilty that I can wear shorts of the same material, and I get away without ridicule. It’s not fair.

I asked fashion-conscious Emily about her view on this. She said that in her mind, jorts are men’s jean shorts and daisy dukes are women’s. Since the nomenclature is different, it is acceptable for women to wear daisy dukes, but men cannot wear jorts. When I replied, ‘But a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, or denim-y, right?”, she wasn’t convinced. They were two separate things. I could see her point of view, but I wasn’t totally sold. When it comes down to it, aren’t they both just shorts made out of denim?

So, I consulted the Internet. Immediately, I found another blog focused on the same topic.  (http://dappered.com/2012/04/style-debate-jorts-on-women/). The premise was, if jorts are laughable on men, are they naturally as ridiculous on women? The comments varied, and here are a select few I find worth repeating here:

·      While guys that were denim shorts look like either dads or little kids it is hard to argue against denim shorts on women. When a woman has a figure and legs that need to be shown off I would say denim short are a close second to skirt/dresses. Third if you count bikinis.

·      womens jorts are great, unless their high waiters and then they look like hill billys 

·      If she's got an ass that wont quit it doesn't matter.

·      Jorts look fine on dudes but they have to be the right ones.

·      don't forget cutoffs for those never nudes out there. There are dozens of us!

Never nude: it's exactly what it sounds like. 

Blogger Joe seems to be in my camp. He says,“Guys get killed for wearing jean shorts.  But women don't.  Seems unfair.  Maybe I wanna wear me some jean shorts.” Who wouldn’t? I love my jean shorts. I wore them three times this week. I’ve had the same pair since middle school and they look fabulous. I’m reminded of the episode of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” where Frank gives Dee’s veteran boyfriend a pair of jean shorts to thank him for his service. I still get choked up when I think of the beautiful display of patriotism. Jorts are justice and they are American.

I’m giving all guys the green flag, but with the caveat that most online polls give women. In a very serious survey of 17 responses from SportsInferno.com, 10 out of 17 men say a woman in jorts is acceptable but it depends on if the woman looks hot or not. 1 wanted pics, and 2 deemed it tacky. The remaining 4 had no complaint. So, if you look like Ryan Gosling, yes, please wear jorts in front of us. But, as long as ugly women wear jorts (not daisy dukes, sorry Emily), I guess I see no problem with average men bringing them back.

Let’s take it a step further. Save the planet and turn your old jeans into shorts. After all, they’re not dorts (denim shorts), but jorts (jean shorts). As Dennis Reynolds says, “Well! Ha-ha! That, sir, is because you purchased blue jean shorts whereas I purchased blue jeans and cut ‘em. Thus, the fray. It’s a more authentic look. I think that’s what you’re feeling”.

I’m getting a high ride! But, the shorts aren’t preventing me from doing what I need to do!

Cut-offs, liberty, and justice for all! Happy summer!

Just one of the 'Girls'?

For most people, there are only two places in the world. Where they live and their TV set. If a thing happens on television, we have every right to find it fascinating, whatever it is.

So says Don DeLillo, as character Jack Gladney, in his insightful novel, “White Noise”. I promise this blog post won’t become an existential rant on the human condition because technology is the death of us. I only read “White Noise” in the first place because one of my favorite bands, The Airborne Toxic Event, came up with their name from part of this book’s plot about a nuclear disaster. Truthfully, I read this rather depressing book in my quest to marry the lead singer. I figured if I read “White Noise” and merely understood his soul’s yearning to create music out of destruction, he’d want to hook up with me. In short, like most of my decisions today, I do them for a boy to notice me. Still waiting, Mikel.

Despite my ulterior motives, I really enjoyed DeLillo’s work. One of his major themes was the power television has over us. We quote it, we plan our lives around shows, we gather information from it, we spend money on it…the list continues. As much as it kills me to say, I watch far more television than I read. In the insightful words of Harry Wormword from the movie “Matilda”, “Why would you want to read when you got the television set sitting right in front of you? There's nothing you can get from a book that you can't get from a television faster”. Too true, Danny DeVito.

We’ve begun to shape our identity on the shows we watch. We might watch television to escape, but if we can’t create a role for ourselves in the programming, then we can’t connect. Based on our own insecurities and forced boredom, we seek out a show that we can carve out a little niche for our pathetic existence. No one is taken more advantage of more than the average woman.

First of all, I don’t even what average means anymore. I’ve watched so many TV shows that I’m not sure if I can say I’m entirely my own person or tainted from its influence. The titles speak to me and I’m beckoned to watch a program that ultimately makes me feel more separate. Why yes, I am one of Two Broke Girls. I do enjoy having Sex and I do live in the City. I’m a Gossip Girl. I’m a New Girl. I’ve been called a Big C. If my dating life continues as it is, my stories might start with How I Met Your Mother.

Yet, as I keep watching, I’m finding it more difficult to identify myself with great confidence in one of these shows. Sure, there are moments where I’ll say “Oh my god, I’m totally like Robin here with my guns and dogs” but those times are fleeting. They end up being just momentary instances of funny drunk stories or horrible dating stories, and then the connection is broke. My other broke girl roommate Dani ranted the other day about Sex and the City, saying how we really could never relate because who has all this money to buy fabulous apartments and shoes? When it comes down to it, we women really want a nice guy and to pick a pair of clean jeans from our closet and not look like Goodwill dressed us (which in my case, happens pretty often).

So, feeling alone because Blair and Serena would never sit with me at lunch on Upper East Side, I needed a television escape. My friend Kleidman pushed the new HBO show “Girls” on me, so I relented. I had read a couple of reviews on it and was intrigued but wary. The New Yorker named it a “classic modern bildungsroman”, and I like a good coming of age tale (now you don’t need to look up that word).

So I downloaded “Girls” with the personal promise that I wouldn’t invest too much into the pilot and that, more importantly to Kleidman, I’d update my fucking blog already.

Now I’m a few minutes out [at time of writing] of the premiere episode of “Girls”, I’ve discovered a few more similarities with main character Hannah that I thought I would. The show opens with her, a 24 year old English major (check), in a restaurant, stuffing her face (check). This could be my Friday night. She’s working on her novel (check) and that she swears she is almost finished with (check again). The opening scene continues with her parents saying they are going to cut her off financially because she is doing so well at work, but frankly, because she's 24.  The show progresses to a Hannah leaving her job, having some pretty uncomfortable (for both viewer and those involved) sex, and getting high at a dinner party with her roommate and her roommate’s British cousin. Pregnancy and drama ensue. And that’s just after 30 minutes of TV. Pretty much my biography.

Kidding. Sort of. Yet, I couldn’t help but cringe when Hannah rants about her ‘friend’ Adam to her roommate Marnie for not responding to her texts. According to Marnie, texting is the lowest position on the communication totem pole. She’s right. I hate it. I hate everything about texting. I hate how easy it is, and even more, I hate the sheer desperation you experience when you’re waiting for a reply. And then you fall asleep thinking you’ll wake up to a text from them and it’s not there, or worse, you just have a drunk text from a friend. A huge letdown. It’s pathetic and you have no one to blame but yourself.

So I’ve been in Hannah’s shoes. Texting a guy instead of calling because you don’t look too serious but then you don’t get a reply. And then you vow never to talk to them again. But then you have a bad day so you call them. Naturally, you have sex that just makes you feel lousy because you lost so much respect for yourself. I tell myself that I’m just going to get so famous one day that every guy who has never texted me back will be writhing in regret and envy that they missed a chance at a lifetime of awesome with me. I’m sure Mila Kunis knows what I’m talking about. But that fantasy is probably not as sad as checking my phone every 15 seconds after I’ve texted a guy that I had a nice time, and they don’t respond. 

Returning back to “Girls”, there were other moments when I figuratively jumped up and shouted, OMG THAT’S ME! This included Hannah’s explanation that her tattoos are self expression of body control (pretty much the reason why I got my industrial piercing), when she cuddles in bed with her roommate, and eats a cupcake in the bathtub. Still, I don’t think Lena Dunham got Girls perfectly. The emotions are intact and there was definitely some catharthis on my part. Also, as someone who would cast Michael Cera to capture the awkwardness of my sex life if it were a movie, I think she also nailed that (no pun intended). Still, there’s so much more that I feel the world should know about the life of a mid 20s girl struggling with the role of ‘finding herself’ amid career, parents, friends, and sex.

Granted, I’m not caught up with the show, but here’s a list of things I think Lena Dunham should include in “Girls” to make it accurate with what a true woman has to deal with on a daily basis:

·      That small but noticeably patch of hair on either your knees, ankle or inner thigh you always forget to shave

·      Beating yourself up for wanting to eat French fries every day

·      Getting nothing done when Titanic is showing on TV

·      Trying not to sweat too much at the gym but also working out hard enough not to get fat

·      Not crying during sad commercials

·      Making your hair perfect for a date only for it to get destroyed a few hours later. Also, asking for directions on your 'stride of pride' the next day

·      Not being too loud during sex or worrying about your sex noises

·      Knowing how to set the table when you’d rather use plastic or just want to sit at your coffee table and watch all of your DVR'd Wheel of Fortune

·      Painting your nails with your non-dominant hand

·      Defending yourself when you have PMS but don’t want to be outed

·      Putting career before your dating life, but still having random sex that allows you to be in your own bed by 10 at night

·      Having a horrible voice

·      Making a Match.com profile

·      Growing underarm hair especially quickly during the summer

·      Running faster or being in better shape than your male friends but still letting them win to protect their ego

·      Pooping
· 

There’s so many more, but I’m not going to carry a Tobias-inspired tape recorder for every moment. So, accolades for Dunham for getting as close as possible (in my opinion) to describing an average mid-20s woman’s life. Still, I refuse to let television define me. TV is escapism, not realism. Unless I make my own show (and don’t rule out that possibility), I’m content with having my own idiosyncrasies. I don't need to be a Carrie or a Miranda.  And by the way, guys, girls talk during sex. It means we like you, and we feel comfortable around you. If you wanted silence, buy a blow up doll.