A Hatred of Clothing
I recently revisited a wonderful essay by Jon Baskin in The Point, entitled “On the Hatred of Literature.” The piece, while decidedly focused on the criticism of a specific author, did a wonderful job of underscoring the temptation to contextualize and nuance a work of art beyond meaning – attempting to create a crystal-clear, microscopic image by zooming in as closely as possible through opaque and rigid layers of one-way glass.
Baskin points to New Historicism – “…the prevailing school of literary interpretation (that assumes) artworks were primarily of value insofar as they could offer us insight into the context and conditions of their historical production” – as the vehicle most readily employed by academics who, in his words, “hated literature.”
It should come as no surprise to my fine followers that I read on an eighth-grade level. Accordingly, it’s almost entirely certain that I missed the point of this eloquent, poignant, and… I’m sure some other “-ent” piece of criticism. Unfortunately for you, you’ve already started reading this. So, slide your seatbelt off and wait for impact. Being thrown clear is your only hope.
The need to contextualize and rationalize any work of art – those we see, those we wear, those we eat, etc. – is, at its heart, rooted in a sense of insecurity. There is a necessary level of vulnerability that comes with enjoyment. You must let yourself go. Find a bright confidence in freedom. One that can’t be tinted by ambiguity.
But that’s scary. There are no roads in the middle of the woods, so surely we’re lost.
Of course, there is utility in understanding the context of art. In clothing, especially, we see that there are very real connections between concepts of class, society, socioeconomics, etc. and the clothing we wear (and don’t wear) today. There’s just no escaping the implications, both subtle and tangible, of certain garments.
We tell a story when we get dressed. And just like any good author, we construct the narrative for each and every uneducated passerby. That doesn’t mean there isn’t ambiguity in these tellings or that more learned observers won’t revel in the details, but validation of literacy is always the primary goal when we step out.
Where we start to get into dangerous territory is over-distilling the story or, worse yet, revising the narratives our clothes tell the world. We see this readily within more recent conservative movements, wherein “classic tailoring” is extolled as the epitome of bygone values.
Of course, this is all bullshit. I’ll slap the shit out of Nazi wearing a suit just as quickly as I would one in a spiked cutoff vest with bright red swastikas.
But this does betray the other end of the spectrum. Baskin is sure the hatred for literature is borne from leftist elitism and a desperate inability to enjoy anything, knowing the blood spilled to reach that point in history. These academics now walk on eggshells, even though they’ve been eating omelets all their lives.
In contrast, we see right wing insecurities on full display in their hatred for clothing. They care not about the artistry of design, the integrity of the manufacturer, the evolution in thinking and culture that created their Norman Rockwell acceptance of the world. Unlike leftist academics – hell-bent on over-analyzing every concept, every motif, every allusion – today’s conservative commenters tether a weak understanding of clothing to a loose mooring constantly battered by shifting (and conflicting) tides of traditionalism. There’s no solid ground for anything other the performative instinct to “dress like a man.”
And yet, while opposites in motivation, the underlying impulse is identical: a lack of confidence in anything, namely themselves. It’s much easier to quote a philosopher than it is to experience conclusion. It’s much easier to beguile a setting from afar than it is to travel there.
The beauty of the world is its lack of absolutes. C.R.E.A.M. – Context Rules Everything Around Me. While perspective is important in appreciating art, one cannot let the popular opinion of its legacy shape personal significance. You must experience things and form your own opinions. You must find confidence in dark places and take the road less traveled while also refusing to let the less traveled road be the cross upon which you die.
Enjoyment, contentment, acceptance. These are concepts that are incredibly hard to measure and even harder to replicate. But they are certainly not feelings that arrive through over-analyzed correlation or haphazardly concocted causation. You must allow yourself to be moved, to be inspired, to be drawn to something. To dress and act and do what you like; what you feel is right.
Human existence is what you make of it. A balance. There’s simply not enough objectivity to convincingly hate anything. Or anyone.
Go get dressed.
