Opinion | Fall wardrobe refresh: Liberating my closet from oppression
by Anne Bokma
Hamilton Spectator, September 14th, 2024
The change of seasons brings a change of wardrobes, a time to toss out whatever’s no longer working for you.
Me? I’ve gotten rid of too-snug Lululemon yoga pants, painful high heels, body suits that snap at the crotch, thongs, wire bras that could double as medieval armour, anything with even a tiny percentage of polyester that doesn’t wick away the sweat from menopausal hot flashes, and, yes, my Spanx.
It’s time to let it all hang out.
Once you hit 60, dressing for comfort is an imperative. The only thing you want to feel against your skin are natural fabrics such as cotton, linen, bamboo and silk. You want your feet to be supported with orthopedic engineering rather than destabilizing stilettos. You want outfits that are unrestricted, not constricting. Freeing, not oppressive.
No item of clothing embodies freedom more than the muumuu, a lightweight, no-fuss, flowing dress that offers one-size-fits-all comfort, and belongs to the same family as the caftan, housedress, shift, kimono and sheath, offering effortless chic that never betrays you with a button pop.
The muumuu, however, was born from an oppressive past, foisted on Hawaiian women by Christian missionaries in the early 1800s who wanted to enforce modesty by covering up the female form as much possible. Over time, Hawaiian women adapted these garments, embracing the muumuu as an informal, loungey dress — it was a reclamation of sorts, liberation in its most floral form.
To understand the appeal of the muumuu, I spoke to Priya Mohan, owner of SariKNOTSari on James Street North. She takes vintage saris and transforms them into one-size-fits-all garments that feel like a second skin — if your second skin were made of silk. She’s made it her mission to create clothing that celebrates women of all shapes and sizes.
“It’s all about the drape,” Mohan says, explaining why the muumuu is perfect for every body type. “You get a beautiful silhouette — shoulders and bust — and the fabric just skims over everything else.”
No more sucking in your tummy.
The muumuu is a revolution in fabric form, a democratizing garment that fits everyone. I bought two this year. One, from SariKNOTSari, is an ankle-length, repurposed, silk sari in a deep green and blue peacock design, the other a knee-length, pistachio, linen number with a big flounce at the hem, from a lovely shop called Joy Boutique in the small village of Staynor.
They’re the closest thing I’ve come to wearing a cloud.
“At a certain age women opt for comfort first,” says Mohan. “I remember those days when I’d go out to see a show and felt that dressing up meant wearing Spanx and heels. There’s no chance of that now. Instead, I’ll wear casual linen pants, a kimono sleeve duster and chunky jewelry. I’ll look good and feel comfortable.
“When we’re younger, we tend to dress for the male gaze. As we get older, we want to turn women’s heads,” she adds.
The muumuu is kind to all women, short or tall, thick or thin, old or young. Most fashion over the centuries has not been so generous. From the whalebone corset cages that literally crushed a woman’s internal organs for the sake of an hourglass figure, to 19th-century skirts so wide they frequently caught fire, to early 20th-century hobble skirts that were so tight women could only take baby steps, women’s clothing has often been designed to restrain rather than liberate.
Thankfully, there have always been women who challenged these norms. In the 1850s, American suffragist Amelia Bloomer popularized the eponymous “bloomers,” which allowed women to move freely and breathe easier. In Vienna in the early 1900s, fashion designer Emilie Flöge, muse to painter Gustav Klimt, created corsetless “reform dresses” that freed women from restrictive Victorian gowns.
In 1938, a Los Angeles kindergarten teacher named Helen Hulick defied a judge who threatened to jail her for wearing slacks to court, at a time when dresses for women were de rigueur. Her comfort-first philosophy was a bold act of defiance against rigid gender norms.
Ultimately, comfort isn’t just about how we dress; it’s a state of mind. It’s about rejecting the notion that fashion requires pain, squeezing, or suffering. So, this fall, as I wrap myself in soft, flowing fabrics, I know I’m not just dressing for the season — I’m dressing for freedom.
What could feel better than that?
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