Going to church all the time wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for the dreaded...
…church clothes.
Up until I was a grown-ass adult, I was required to wear my Sunday best to church each week. In the 90s, that meant frilly dresses, those socks with the lacy ruffles (or white tights if it was cold out), and patent leather shoes with buckles. As I grew out of the cute childhood stage and into the early 2000s awkward teenage phase, it meant ill-fitting khakis and oversized sweaters.
I
looked SO bad.
 |
| Complete with teenage attitude. |
(Not that I looked any better in non-church clothes at that time, but that’s not my point.)
Why,
oh why, I begged my parents, couldn’t I wear jeans to church like so many of my
peers? Surely it didn’t matter what I was wearing as long as I was there?
Oh,
but it did matter. I think my parents’ reasoning was something along the lines
of “if all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?”
If
it meant I never had to wear tights again, probably.
I
have never been the girliest girl on the face of the planet. I would say I land
squarely in the middle. As a kid, I loved to play in the forest, but I had a
favorite dress I would wear while doing it. I played Barbies all the time, but
my Barbies never had kids or husbands. Dress-up was a favorite past-time, but I
didn’t come around to wearing makeup until I was a senior in high school. Even
today, you’ll always find me neatly made-up with my nails done, but I have no
clue how to do my hair.
My
childhood church clothes were decidedly girly, and in a bullshit kind of way.
Anyone who has ever had to wear those ruffly socks can tell you – they are not
comfortable. They were itchy, and the ruffles never stayed folded the way you
wanted them to. The patent shoes you wear with them were always pinchy, no
matter what size they were. 1990s torture devices.
 |
| But look how cute! |
Church was a fashion show, even if you might not think of it as one. Communion Sunday was when you really strutted your stuff. That’s when the whole congregation lined up to get to the front of the church where the wine and wafers were, and you could see what everyone was wearing. You had to look your best on Communion Sunday.
I
came home from college one weekend and put on my standard issue church clothes
on Sunday – I may not have gone to church when I was AT college, but the rule
still stood when I was home from college. I came down the stairs to find a stunning
sight: my brother, sister, and father, all wearing jeans! Cold would be the day
in hell that would happen, I had been told as a teenager! You’d better believe
I went immediately back upstairs to change.
Ever
since then, with the exception of weddings and funerals, I have worn jeans to
church. The only time I attend church is with my parents, so I am following
their lead. And it truly does make going to church so much better. My church
khakis can burn in hell.
