My bookshelf boasts a novel — because writers obviously need to be surrounded by literature for credibility and manifestation of intellect — called The Art of Undressing. And now you know I can’t lay claim to this clickbait of a header.
A visiting mind spotted it and hmmed. I read this book years ago. However, this restrained musing, a meme and a conversation became too much a confluence of events I could not disregard it. Instead of musing about what and how to wear, I felt challenged to undress you.
An attractive woman newly arrives home from life’s unpredictabilities after putting up appearances, as females are wont to do. She sits on the sofa and begins undressing. Bra comes off. Her bosom left less perky. She unbuttons her jeans. With an exhalation, her gut spills out. All the women in the group collectively sigh. The pleasure of undressing is too much to resist.
It took me back to another black and white cartoon. This time a detective. Let’s call him The Man, and his sidekick, The Boy.
The pair are investigating a murder. They visit a woman’s house, presumably a suspect. Glamazon opens the door in full fabulosity mode declaring she just woke up from a nap. The Man turns to The Boy saying, "she did it." Baffled, The Boy later asks how he knew this. Smugly, The Man announces that no respectable woman would ever take a nap wearing a pair of earrings the size of a house, the chandelier trend revealing her guilt.
The thing about undressing is how it is a ritual far more significant than getting dressed. Gearing up for the day is akin to putting on armour, and not just of the Spanx kind.
Undressing strips away any modicum at pretend perfection. It is when a woman finally realises the thing she will never buy again, which part of the shoe pinches most, how chapos and ndaos live on in consequence and, critically, the mask she puts on for the world. The exhaustion is palpable. More so, the relief. A woman feeling like herself once more.
Men, if you did not know why women reach for soft ugly worn T-shirts and Godforsaken track bottoms, it is because nothing feels as good as de-escalating the pretty. Yes, there have been complaints about getting the dregs of a woman’s awesome.
Hear this. So much attention is paid to looking a certain way. Staying in that character is like Method Acting. Someone will snap.
It is therefore expected you must understand the work that goes into dressing up. Before you even think it, I know. Women must also understand men are visual creatures. Remember in 1992 mothers of political prisoners stripping at Uhuru Park?
It was not for political effect. Never mind the curse of blindness or death. Generations of African women when backed into a corner, incensed and seeing no help in sight, resorted to undressing.
This act is perceived as so private, it breaks down the backlash socialites and any woman who freely chooses to share their body.
From now the wrath of feminists, conservatives, the hard right, religion, body and slut shamers — it is a formidable list — the degree of offence a woman’s undressed body attracts is breathtaking. Curiously, how judgy we are with expectations on what a woman looks like with her clothes on.
It is when a woman in her sanctuary undresses that she realises what spills out is equal to how much she has to conform. Why else is athleisure wear, gender-neutral aka androgynous clothing and the easy fit of modest fashion earning such love the world over? Comfortable yet without the sloth factor. Goggling “sneakers for women” contends with 822 million hits. Why Adidas, Puma and Nike gather female influencers in a collaborative circle. Not forgetting the splintering of sizes, older female influencers albeit at a snail’s pace, banning "anti-ageing" in some magazines, brands micro targeting demographics from plus size to 50 plus.
The problem with undressing, how very much similar it is to covering up. Natural hair (it’s not been for everyone), no actual make-up (all skin is not created equal) to body positivity (where, exactly, is the line between unhealthy and fabulous) are undying debates.
Undressed or clothed, it is proof a woman’s body, especially when she thinks it’s hers, never really is. No one should be shocked when Cinderella’s shopping for a gown takes her home with leggings and a shoe salesman who slid into her DM.
