This Thursday I’ll be heading to the campus of Andover-Newton Theological School for the Woodbury Leadership Conference to sit at the feet of the marvelous Mary Luti and Peter Senge. The topic is something about Vision, but I don’t pay much attention to topics when choosing a continuing education opportunity because the fact is, when the presenters are amazing, you’re going to be very glad you went. Conversely, even if the announced topic sounds fantastic and exactly what you need, if you know that the presenters are mediocre, you’re better off calling a few people you really admire on the phone and learning from them on the subject. It’s always a bummer when I get fliers for terrific-sounding workshops that I wish with all my heart I could recommend to myself and my lay leaders — except for the fact that the presenters are untalented in everything except the art of self-promotion.
I will be dressing professionally for the Woodbury Conference. That’s a no-brainer for me. I don’t care if everyone else is in sweats and snowflake sweaters because they’re treating it as a day away from the office or the parish — call me crazy, but I think one should dress as a leader for a leadership conference. There is nothing more depressing to me than convening with a group of clergy who ostensibly care about the future of the Church but who collectively look no more impressive than a group of people who have gathered to walk the mall on a Saturday morning.
Some of you, when noting such an occasion on your calendar, write to me about what to wear. And the first question out of your mouths is often, “Can I wear jeans to this?”
This is the question that makes PeaceBang want to quietly close her computer, walk upstairs, and take to her bed for about six days, being brought nourishment by her imaginary solicitous housekeeper, Franz, so frail and vulnerable that she needs assistance getting in and out of the bath. This question ages PeaceBang by about ninety years because it tires her unto the death.
Darling readers, you can wear jeans to anything you want. You can wear jeans to church, you can preach in jeans, you can wear jeans to the White House, you can wear jeans when you’re receiving your Nobel Peace Prize. You can wear jeans whenever you like.
SHOULD you wear jeans?
Probably not. Because if you’re asking my permission to wear jeans, chances are that your natural instinct is to get away with dressing as casually as you can for every event in your life, and that is EXACTLY the instinct that PeaceBang spills her precious lifeblood trying to train you out of. Despite what your mother and your therapist told you, your instincts do not always serve you well. When it comes to putting together a public image, in fact, and you’re wishing you could wear jeans instead of that beautifully fitted suit or skirt and heels, it’s time to throw your instincts into a gunneysack with a few hefty stones and drown them in the nearest pond.
“Can I wear jeans to this?”
“EVERYONE ELSE was wearing jeans!”
And so everyone else looked like a slob and you looked appropriate. What else do you expect PeaceBang to say? You showed up in a pair of adult trousers. Would you like a little medal for that, or perhaps a gold star sticker on your forehead? Congratulations, and a slow golf clap for you. You managed to put on an outfit involving garments that can’t all be tossed into the washer at the end of the day, garments that have some structure to them, garments that were, perhaps actually designed and tailored with an aim to bestowing their wearer with a modicum of formality and dignity. Congratulations! You had an actual zip and button around your waist instead of elastic. Perhaps you had pantyhose on, or a tie, and you stood up straight and sat a little more carefully in your chair and subsequently mistook the unaccustomed degree of formality for actual discomfort. You’ll live, nummy. My heavens, the way some of you carry on when required to wear structured clothing, one would think you’re all corseted up like Dame Maggie Smith in “Downtown Abbey.”
Now, pardon me, but having busted three more hooks on my trustiest and oldest corset I must go in search of a new one online. They go by the name “tummy trimmer” nowadays and I wouldn’t be caught dead without one or two in my lingerie drawer.
By the way, I will not be “wearing jeans to that.”
Jeans as in the ones I wear on my day off, no. Dark denim trousers from Talbot’s with a slightly flared leg paired with burgundy heels, a nice top, and a dark teal velvet blazer, YES! [YES! I am THERE! – PB]
I was at a retreat for two days just recently. I did wear my tailored sweat pants the second day because it was VERY COLD in the room and my legs were hurting. I brought my fleece jacket with me to cover my legs to try to stay warm. Next year I will remember to wear my silk long johns under my slacks to stay warm and will bring a shawl that I can drape over my legs as well. But jeans…no.
When I come home, I take off my work clothes and put on my good clothes. Jeans. Amen.
At a conference that’s an actual Event and open to the public, I agree with you. But there is a degree to which local culture operates in local clergy meetings. I work in the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire, where the bishop (when he’s not off somewhere being globally fabulous) wears a fleece vest over his purple clergy shirt. When we gather as a group of clergy colleagues, most of us are wearing snow boots, fleece, and various items from LL Bean. Some do wear clericals, but I suspect I’m not the only one who wonders why those folks bother; I mean, we all know that we’re all priests. We don’t have to prove it to the group. A high premium is put on being down-to-earth around here, and the clothing reflects that. Taking off the collars when we’re together indicates the degree of trust and comfort we have around each other. (Again, these are closed events where we all know each other.)
Is it a bit the asking permission thing? Like, we’re all grown adults you don’t need to ask permission to wear jeans, what you should be doing is deciding yourself whether what they say about you is what you intend to say in that setting.
(And of course, asking for advice and opinions from people whose clothing judgement you trust.)