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I’ve never been a fan of being told what not to wear. In high school my friends and I not only had to wear dresses or skirts, but the hemlines had to touch the floor when we kneeled down. If they didn’t, the Dean of Girls, Alice Mitchell, would demand we change into something “appropriate” she pulled from a giant cardboard box in her office.
We complied, but the minute we left her office we’d head to the Home Ec room and hem the garments to a length we liked. If any teacher questioned what we were wearing we’d look surprised and say, “But this is what Mrs. Mitchell gave us”.
So, yeah, most of the time I don’t listen when people tell me what not to wear. But one time I would have.
In 1989 I was part of a group of women from our church selected to go to a 3-day leadership conference being held at a university. We’d stay in dorms, eat in the dining hall and attend class on campus.
The first morning my roomies and I headed to the dorm’s shared bathroom/shower area in our pjs. Several other women were already there. Everything seemed cool until I noticed one woman staring daggers at me and another shaking her head in obvious disapproval.
“What’s going on?”, I asked a friend. “Do I have toilet paper stuck on my heel or something?”
“No … it’s your t-shirt.”
“My t-shirt? Practically everyone is wearing a t-shirt over pajama bottoms.”
“But not *that* t-shirt.”
“What’s wrong with wearing a Gregg Allman Band t-shirt?” I asked, pulling the front tight so she could see the perfectly innocuous image of Gregg and the band clearer.
“It’s not the front, Lana. It’s the back.”
The back? Omg. The image on the back of the t was a slutty angel in high heels accompanied by the text I’m No Angel. No Angels Tour. Definitely not the thing to be wearing at a religious retreat.
I wish someone would have told me not to wear it earlier. I would have listened and happily complied.
Posted : August 31, 2026 3:12 pm