By Geoff Carter
Artwork by Michael DiMilo
As of May 1st, over thirty percent of the American population has been fully vaccinated from COVID. New York City, Chicago, and other major cities are beginning to reopen businesses and theaters. Kids are going back to school. As we inch our way back toward normalcy, one of the questions I find myself hearing—and asking—is how people will adjust to being in public spaces again. After all, it’s been a long time since most of us have been to plays, sports events, concerts, dances, or movie theaters. For the most part, we’ve been sequestered in our homes, hidden behind our masks, and huddled on our couches. There were times last year when people didn’t shower or change their clothes for days. We’ve been nesting, cocooning. How will we emerge? What will we look like?
Even before the pandemic hit, casual dress had reached new levels of acceptance—and new levels of sloppiness. Shoppers at the local grocery were wearing pajama bottoms and slippers for their afternoon shopping. Worshipers came to church services wearing their favorite Packers jersey and flip-flops. Customers came to shop at the local malls in warm-up outfits or sweats. It didn’t seem as if—perhaps barring weddings—there was anything we needed to dress up for anymore.
I, myself—the Couch Potato—went in for a simple medical procedure about a month ago. As I was checking in, the nurse asked me why I had bothered to get dressed up. I paused a moment and took stock—I was wearing a turtleneck, khakis, and a sport coat. Nothing special. I shrugged and said no reason. She seemed surprised.
In her August 5th, 2015 Time magazine article, “Why and When Did Americans Begin To Dress So Casually?”, fashionista Deirdre Clemente outlines the history of casual wear in America, pointing out that this style emphasizes “comfort and practicality” and that clothes act as a metaphor—and an emblem—of personal freedom. As she states, “clothes are freedom—freedom to choose how we present ourselves to the world.” And, with casual wear, what our society seems to want to emphasize is comfort. Clothes are also, of course, a means of self-identification, not, as Clemente says, reflecting identity as much as constituting it. In other words, what we choose to wear makes us who we are. As we become punk or a goth or a hipster, buying the clothes becomes part of that process. (Time Magazine, August 5th, 2015).
While this seems quite credible when considering human behavior in normal circumstances, how has the freedom to wear what we please affected us during quarantine, when we were confined to our homes? With whom—or what—do we identify and how do we express that in our dress? Do we identify with our families, our couches, and our favorite streaming programs? Or our own comfort? Have we become so used to lounging at home (or even attending virtual work meetings in pajama bottoms) that we will begin to see a new, more extreme casualness in our dress? I guess what I’m asking is whether our private, quarantined, Couch Potato like selves might leak into the public sphere. I’m wondering if we’ll see that in our work routines, our social habits, and our dress.
As a great fan of cinema, I’m looking forward to the day when I can sit in a full theater and enjoy the communal experience of watching a great movie. But given the latest renovations to casual wear, I’m a little apprehensive about what we might be seeing in our theaters and concert halls and stadiums.
Some folks were already dressing down for the theater before quarantine. You might have seen someone at a show wearing a sweatshirt or a sports jersey or a t-shirt. Jeans are ubiquitous—the new uniform of the age. When my family went to see Wicked on Broadway, we were disappointed by the family behind us, dressed in their warm-up suits and sweats and chomping on a bag of potato chips all the way through the show. They brought their living room with them—mobile Couch Potatoes.
Of course, movie theaters are much more casual venues where almost any attire is acceptable. Some of the newer theaters even have deluxe-sized reclining lounge chairs (Once again, we see the living room invading the public venue). Fashion aside, comfort can go a little too far. A few years ago, I was watching at a Marcus Theater when I noticed an odd smell. I looked around and saw that my neighbor had taken off his shoes, regaling everyone in his vicinity with the smell of his stinky socks.
All of us have had experiences like these. It’s human nature—and very American. It wasn’t always this way. People used to dress up. Men wore suits and ties to church, the movies, work, and even the ball game. Women wore dresses to nearly any social occasion. As a society, we’ve mostly evolved beyond this, prizing our personal comfort over formality. It’s who we are now.
As we emerge from our cocoons and reenter the “real” world after quarantine, will we be different? Now that we’ve spent months in our homes with our families, will our social values have shifted slightly? Now that our homes—our couches—have become our primary social centers, will that affect our behavior—and our dress? Is it possible that we might become even more casual? Or that we might not come outside at all? It’s not outside the realm of possibility. Some companies are offering their workers the option to work from home permanently.
What will we look like as we emerge from our cocoons? Our new appearances—our identities—could very well be as bland and non-descript as the cocoon itself. And comfortable. Or perhaps, in response to our first taste of freedom, we might emerge as beautiful creatures showing our true colors as individuals rejoining their friends in a beautiful new world. I look forward to my first feature film in a theater, at enjoying the company of strangers in the dark. I think I’ll wear something befitting the occasion.
From Cocoon to Butterfly. jpg Gabriela Tamara Cycman https://unsplash.com/photos/I-EiXkwo1fU Unsplash free license
