September 29, 2005
Dressing Up at IRT
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

My mom and I had a date this week. She requested we stroll “Mass Ave” (it’s cute when parents are being hip), grab dinner, and then see Inherit the Wind at IRT (Bertram Cates, how I love thee). It’s always a culture quest with mom.

My mom is young at heart, but graduated cum laude from the “old school.” She is a Category 5 lady. Since I’ve known her, which has been several years now, she’s never owned a pair of jeans; she has perfect posture and drinks without her poised pinky ever touching the glass. She and Virginia Wolfe’s Mrs. Dalloway would have been best friends.

Sometimes when I visit, she hugs me hello, and with the same breath says, “You need lipstick.”

My older sister was the tea party kind of kid, but I grew up as a tomboy with tangled hair, and I generally fibbed about washing behind my ears.

My childhood sometimes tortured mom.

These days, I work in a creative every-day-is-casual-day atmosphere. When I met my mom after work for our date, she greeted me saying, “You’re going to change clothes before the play, aren’t you?”

Me: *Whimper*

The “dressing down” of America is a foreign concept to my mom, and although I enjoy being comfortable at work, I agree that casual days may be gaining uncontrollable strength.

Going out to, say, the symphony or a play, is an opportunity, not a requirement, to dress up. When we arrived at IRT, I was surprised by how casually (some haphazardly) many people dressed. Shorts, un-tucked shirts and – quick, mom, look away – jeans were everywhere. I never thought I’d feel over-dressed wearing a skirt and high heels to a play, but I did.

Being part of the generation that fell prostrate to the wisdom of the Brady, Huxtable and Simpson trilogy, it’s easy to mix life lessons, but have we lost our ability to show respect? Didn’t we all suffer through the childhood pledge class given by actives of the old school?

Humorist David Sedaris, an expatriate living in Paris, commented that American tourists show up there looking like they’re ready to mow the lawns.

I was walking down the Champs Elysées with a group of American friends once. Because it was hot, one of the men in our group took his shirt off. Shocked by his reckless abandon toward their culture, I said, “Have you lost your mind? Put your shirt back on!”

I heard my mom in my voice; the old school had gained another alumnus.