I wanted to post this pic of an apron I love. I don’t think the other people in my household think much of this apron. They are kind and complimentary in their comments, one to another, encouraging self-esteem and general wellbeing – but I can’t help noticing they all tactfully refrain from making comment on this apron. Perhaps it really belongs to the ‘overgrown bridesmaid’ category (a phrase I remember always from a stinging remark about modest dress by a newspaper journalist). Whatever, I love it. I think it’s so pretty. The reason I am also wearing a blanket is that it's mighty cold sitting working up in the garret in second month!
There is something that has puzzled me in my reading and observation of Plain sisters, on my wanderings online and in the pages of books, in the community of Christians who take seriously a call to modest and plain dress.
Not too much is said about the plain and modest dress of men, nor of their manner and sobriety – unless I have overlooked it in seeking more for advice to women. Much is said, though, in admonishing women to be wary of arousing the lusts and base passions of men by the way they dress. Preachers and respected women teachers go into some depth in warning women of the grave results of showing too much flesh, or of letting the tumbling glory of their hair be seen.
That’s fair enough.
Christian teachers also stress that disciples should be free of vainglory, of frivolity, and of extravagance. So dress should be simple, not showy. Back in the eighteenth century, John Wesley was warning women from the pulpit about ribbons and ruffles and lace and frills. There should be no luxury, no frippery whatnots, no dalliance with vain and prideful ways.
Also, fair enough.
Diligent to scrape their hair back tight, Amish women often create a bald patch from traction alopaecia.
Storebought underwear is sometimes forbidden, and clothes are cut to disguise, never enhance, the feminine figure.
In some cases, looking at photographs, it would seem that women have gone out of their way to make themselves as ugly as possible, eschewing anything that might possibly make them look attractive to men.
What puzzles me is this. What about the men we’re married to? They, too, like all the others, presumably, are attracted to pretty women – to shapeliness and comeliness and femininity. If we make ourselves as ugly as possible, so that nothing about us could ever be said to invite the attentions of a man, wouldn’t that include our husbands as well?
And in our success, while we had kept every other male person free from the lusts of the flesh (at least in regard to ourselves), might we not find with regard to the one man we cared about most especially, that he looked with wistfulness on less modest and upright examples of feminine grace?
I find this a great dilemma, especially at the age I am. In her 50s, by artful dressing, with clothes that layer and scarves that distract the eye, with hair well-cut and coloured and a little make-up and jewellery subtly added, with heels on her shoes and a nice little jacket that emphasises the waist she aspires to, a woman can preserve her youthful appearance and drift gracefully from sexy into elegant. Not in a cape dress or a jumper and a kapp!
With our hair brushed back, tucked neatly up into our kapps, and our throat-high necklines, we ladies of a certain age expose to merciless view the lizard neck that is probably our ugliest feature. It does us no favours.
As we walked through Oxford one seventh-day morning about three years ago, Badger and I saw a man and lady giving out Christian tracts. He made a (not unkind, Badger is never unkind) passing comment to me about the old lady. The ‘old lady’, dressed as I was dressed – in modest garb and with a headcovering – was about my age.
Looking at photos of Plain and modest dressing families online, I have sometimes mistaken a man’s wife for his mother. Past the menopause, women descend sharply into a much older appearance, and it takes effort and skill to counter that.
If I were to have a haircut, and Trinny&Susanna my wardrobe, add makeup and jewellery, I could take fifteen to twenty years off my appearance overnight. And with the right cut to my clothes, about thirty pounds off my appearance as well.
I can’t do it. I feel called to modest dress and headcovering. I’m not sure that I have the right to call it ‘Plain’, because I do like the flowery dresses too.
There comes a time when this dilemma passes. Once ladies are properly old, fashionable clothes and make-up can start to look a bit frightening; they look fresher and sweeter in modest simplicity of dress, simpler and gentler with hair tucked up under a kapp. It becomes beautiful again.
It’s just this bit in the middle. A very vulnerable-feeling time.
There is talk about letting one’s hair down at night, in its glory, for one’s husband’s private delight. That sounds good, doesn’t it? But . . . in our house at least, that bit often doesn’t happen because my husband is watching telly or reading by the fire long after I’ve gone to bed. And ten minutes at the end of the day . . . well, it’s not long, really, is it?
With my hair up or down, in jeans or in dresses, I can be well grim and a bit of a battle-axe. In all honesty, I think I could have done with the best help and haircut I could get! Only, there is this calling. And I don’t understand it, but it doesn’t go away.
I guess maybe it’s different in Plain communities, or at least in marriages where both husband and wife feel called to go Plain.
Anyway, I go with the call, because how could I not? But I do what I can to be reasonably pretty Plain. As far as nature allows! I see no reason to pursue the end of being as ugly as possible. I don’t remember that from reading the Bible.
Looking back at what I wrote here last summer, I see that I must have been just on the cusp of capitulating to the tugging at my heart. I set out very carefully all the rational and very good reasons not to cover my head, or wear dresses, or go to Quaker meeting. A month later, I had given in to all those things, coming home to the leading that had called me a couple of years before, to which I had not had the strength to remain faithful. I don’t really know why I came back, in spite of what I thought. I seem to follow my heart more than my head, these days, listening to the whispers, and trying to do what they say.
And there is this kind of beautiful that transforms the face and demeanour of any woman, worldly or Plain; it does more for her than any fashion or any kind of cultural code – happiness, kindness, a ready smile, and peace in the heart.