When I got a spam for “men in wedding dresses” this morning I thought, hell yeah! I sure do wanna see some men in wedding dresses. I bet men look even more asinine in wedding dresses than women do. And who doesn’t want to look at something asinine first thing on Sunday morning?
Men universally look asinine in women’s clothes, yeah? The reason for this, and for mild funniness in other low forms of humor, is incongruity. Nothing says “I submit to my species’ disdain and surrender forthwith any claims to my own humanity” quite like a wedding dress. Women’s clothes are designed, according to a rigorous standard of misogyny, to communicate that the wearer is totally up for self-abasement. Men, on the other hand, are required by law not to be totally up for self-abasement. Therefore, in accordance with the laws of patriarchy, comedy and gender, a dude in a wedding dress is improbable and unnatural, thus causing the observer to laugh or retch or curl a cynical lip.
A propos of stupid shit women have to do to conform to stringent sex-class requirements: the other day I was sprawling around Jo’s, quaffing (as is consistent with my nature, ego, and nationality) a single, iced Americano in a double-sized cup, when I witnessed a particularly painful women’s-clothing-related tableau. Staggering up the sidewalk came a young woman, about 6 months pregnant, whose ugly, feminine raiment suggested that she had attired herself to appease an employer. Her get-up’s distinguishing feature was the pair of 3-inch heels strapped to her feet. The gait was lurching, the ankles were wobbling, and every step looked to be her last. Any passing student of abnormal kinesiology who happened to be conducting a study on the effects of the slope of South Congress Ave on pregnant ladies wearing high heels would have signed her up on the spot. I could almost hear the bunions sprouting.
The scene was grim. But will it astonish you to learn that nobody, including this internet feminist, thought anything of it? Even though the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to a flapping, oil-drenched gull tangled in plastic six-pack rings? Nobody sprang to her aid. Nobody handed her a helpful copy of The Dialectic of Sex. Nobody alerted Amnesty International. Nobody so much as wiped a tear from the eye.
I mention this because the spectacle of any other creature so deformed by man-made encumbrances would have generated a swirling vortex of soft-hearted do-gooders offering to drive it to the vet, foster it, nurse it back to health, release it back into the wild, and document the whole enterprise on YouTube.
However, people sitting around in coffee shacks, and elsewhere, are conditioned not to see the humanitarian crisis unfolding before them whenever women totter past enmeshed in plastic six-pack rings. It is a universally agreed-upon fact that suffering indignity is consistent with women’s essential nature. Women look natural in stupid clothes because women, as is stated in the Global Accords Governing Fair Use of Women, are biologically and culturally constrained to subsist as degraded masochists.
If you want to gauge the stupidity quotient of a given article of women’s clothing, just picture it on a dude. Picture it on Barack Obama, or Obi Wan Kenobi.
Obi Wan in a pencil skirt with a Birkin bag and Louboutin pumps, some pout-plumper, and a spritz of Beyoncé’s new perfume “Heat.” Stupid?
The turtle in the video, deformed by a plastic milk-jug ring, was named for film star Mae West, whose artificially-induced hourglass shape was totallay hottt!!!
Speaking of corsets, here is one of those odd niche/historical/tribute websites, this one documenting corsetieres, women who came to your door selling Spirella corsets. And here is a little Wikipedia (i.e. unverified) history of the practice of using undergarments to squish the crap out of your torso.
Bride-man photo pilfered from this website.