Reverse pleats
There, after thirty years I can finally admit it. I feel so much better, but I need to lie down.
I saw an old African woman in Mali wearing an obviously charity-donated t-shirt that said “Wine Me, Dine Me, 69 Me”. Most amusing.
There was a very large guy in Anchorage who showed up at every symphony concert wearing very thin sweat pants, a ratty tee and a biker vest. Not being a fashion plate myself, I didn’t pay much attention until I happened to be sitting behind him. Those pants were thin, baby, and he didn’t wear underwear. Whenever he got up or sat down, it was like seeing the Grand Canyon.
I have seen people wearing similarly tasteful T-shirts (and extremely abbreviated attire) visiting our hospital.
I wonder if anyone shows up for a colonoscopy wearing this T-shirt.
This is a bit of a grey area, but–
SF convention, Towson, MD, 1978-ish. One expects bizarre, revealing costumes, however, one couple were “dressed” thusly: she had fur boots, something like a Scotsman’s sporran/merkin covering up her lady parts, and one gunbelt, with shells, slung between her breasts. That’s all. He had on similar boots, similar gunbelt and a leather codpiece pointing straight out over his obvious erection. Sadly, neither of them sprung from a Frazetta painting. Posterior view? Beats me.
:: shudder ::
That reminds me of a story…
Picture it: 1985. A courtroom in a small southern town.
The judge: One of those awe-inspiring Southern Ladies of a Certain Age and Social Class. She was known by her ENTIRE name. Judge FirstName MiddleName (her mother’s maiden name, of course,) MaidenName Husband’sLastName. But I’ll call her Judge M. She had been homecoming queen and valedictorian before attending the right college, joining the right sorority, and attending the right law school. She was also the first woman to become an attorney in this county, before achieving a whole series of firsts in the legal field, including presiding over that courtroom on that springtime morning.
The accused: My brother, age 16. He had been accused of “vandalizing” his gym teacher’s car. Largely because he had done so - he knocked the driver’s side mirror off of the teacher’s '77 Chevette. He also 'fessed up, and offered to pay for the damages. That wasn’t good enough for the teacher, who pressed charges and accused him of doing a lot more damage to the car. Thus, my brother goes to court that morning, along with my mother (naturally, since Bro was a minor.) Now, my family might not belong to the same social circles as the judge, but we aren’t trash. Ma wore slacks and a blazer, because she had to take the morning off work, and that’s how she went to work. My brother wore slacks, a button-up shirt, a tie, a belt, and polished his shoes, because that’s what you wear to court, right?
Unless you’re the final actor - the gym teacher, a thirty-something schoolteacher and mother of one. She walked into the courtroom wearing a romper and sneakers and those little tennis socks with the pom poms on the back. (The gym teacher didn’t look much like the linked model. Ms. S’s left thigh was about the same size as that model. She was short and pear-shaped and old enough to freaking know you don’t go to court wearing a romper. Old enough to know that you don’t appear in public wearing a romper, because you’ll look like an idiot.
Judge M wasn’t impressed. She was even less impressed when the teacher introduced photographs of the damage she accused my brother of causing - dents that had years of rust and crust, damage that very obviously couldn’t have been caused by someone only two or three months earlier. I think the judge would have dismissed the case entirely, but my brother had already confessed to damaging the mirror, so he was ordered to pay for a used mirror and arrange installation (he put it back on himself.) She then proceeded to give the teacher a dressing-down right there in front of God and everybody (and faithfully reproduced in the court record) regarding honesty, vindictiveness, and how to dress like a grown-up.
A few months later, at the high school’s homecoming game, former homecoming queens were brought onto the field at halftime, escorted by ROTC students. The judge asked that my brother do the honors, and wore a lovely rose corsage from him. I still have the photo.
A young lady recently applied for the Admin Assistant job at the office at my old job. There is no walk-in traffic and the office is 99% female. The young lady was displaying such an extraordinary amount of boobage that the rest of us were finding excuses to wander into the room where she was filling out her application just to gawk.
I’ll chalk it up to youthful rebellion. I would never wear tails to a matinee today.
A similar thread was recently started in a cruise forum I visited. How about a chain mail outfitworn to a formal night gathering on a cruise ship? Pictures are in the third post.
I wasn’t quite sure what a romper was in this context, but that definitely wasn’t it. 
I sing at a lot of Catholic weddings and I’ve seen my share of inappropriately dressed guests. With the women it’s usually that they’ve gone way over the top in “sexy” mode. Apart from dragging attention away from the bride, which is a real no-no, they look like prostitutes and it’s incredibly unattractive.
With the men it’s the other way round: they dress way down. I remember one wedding which was being held at 5.00pm on a Saturday afternoon. The groom and his supporters were in black tie, and it should have been obvious at that time of the day that a lounge suit was required of the male guests, at the very least. Indeed, this was the dress requirement on the wedding invitation. One bloke in his mid-20s turned up in jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. The father of the bride stopped him at the church door and asked him why he wasn’t appropriately dressed for the occasion. His response was something like “I’m young. I always dress like this”. The father responded with something like “It’s time you grew up and acted like a man. Go away and buy yourself a suit”.
I saw a guy walking around downtown Pittsburgh wearing a bikini."
Black sort of short-short tight briefs (they might have worked on a guy, as a speedo) and a black string bikini top. Then he had on these black strappy sandals (they were actually kind of cute), bright red lipstick, and a straw hat. Other than that, the dude had a full beard, a hair chest, hairy legs, no fake boobs or anything.
You know, whatever floats your boat and all, but if you’re gonna cross dress, don’t go about it all half-assed. Or at least, don’t dress like a hooker in broad daylight. (Seriously, if I had seen a woman in this get-up, that’s what I would’ve assumed)
I’ve heard Lowes, a down-market menswear chain here in Sydney, described as “the place young men go to buy their first suit for their court appearances”.
Sounds like my neighbor across the street when he does yardwork. Only it’s not just when he gets up or down. My mother refers to it as the “full moon”. (Yes, I know he’s only working in the yard. But seriously, do you have to show your ass crack to the entire world? Would it really kill the guy to buy a freaking BELT? Don’t people have any sense of dignity?)
Don Johnson’s garage sale?
My dad’s ex-girlfriend used to wear those terrycloth one-piece strapless rompers all the time. (It was the 80’s.) He says she used to bend down to pick something off the lowest shelf in a grocery store and “give everybody a show.”
I was picturing something like a track suit, not a short dress.
That’s an odd juxtaposition, here in the US Lowes is a home improvement/building supply store.
My friend was attending a Catholic mass in honour of her daughter who had passed away a few weeks earlier at 19 years old. My friend wore high heels. When we walked into the church I saw some random woman sitting in a pew gasp and whisper to her seatmate “Who wears 5 inch heels to church?!” I shot the woman a dirty look and wished I could say “Her daughter just DIED. She can wear whatever the hell she wants.”
I work for a store that is owned by Jewish people, located in a Jewish neighborhood, and has a large Jewish clientele. One night two young men came in decked out in Nazi regalia–leather hats, jackets, boots and army pants. When they came to my cash register, the (Hasidic) Jewish manager came over and stood at the end of my station.
I rang their purchasers (notebooks, pens and candy), took their payment, and they said “Thank you” and left.
We were out hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains many years ago. We navigated down a fairly steep hill to get to a nice waterfall, then started back up. On the way up, we met a woman coming down the gravelly slope, wearing high heels, a tight black leather skirt, and in full dragon-lady makeup and poofy hairdo. Twenty years later we still puzzle over that one.
On photo safari in Tanzania, we had the glorious experience of going down into the Ngorongoro Crater. It’s a stunning place. You see tourists in all manner of garb, usually some variation on jeans, tees, or other very casual clothing. Then there was the guy who was standing up in his vehicle, with his upper half protruding through the open observation roof. He had binoculars around his neck and had on a white shirt, a tie, and a plastic safari hat. It was so out of place that we just stared in silence, imagining the shorts, white knee socks and shiny black shoes that must have been out of sight below.
It’s not even a dress. It’s a shorts jumpsuit. Because 