My midriff: A cause for concern?

Dress code policy should be equitably enforced, more specific

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I was running even later than usual when my dad dropped me off at school Friday, March 10. I rolled my eyes when my dad told me to “have fun,” while I hurriedly grabbed my bag and got out of the car.

Standing a distance apart from me were two of our administrators. I could hear them murmuring as they glanced over in my direction.

And then a question was raised: “Young lady?”

The area was deserted. I turned around. What followed was something along the lines of this:

“Your shirt is too short. I’m afraid you’ll have to go to the office and get a different shirt.”

I looked down at my outfit. Yes, I was wearing a crop top, but I was wearing it with a high-waisted skirt. The two were less than a mere centimeter away from each other.

After looking at my shocked face, the administrator assured me that the office had a “cute black tee” I could change into, not a P.E. shirt. I asked him if I could call my mom to drop off a shirt for me instead. He said yes, but let me know that that would take more time. I was already late; I didn’t care.

I was directed to the health office where I could call my mom and wait for the shirt.  As I walked by another woman in the office, she told me, “For future reference, showing midriff is against the rules. You’ll get dress-coded if you wear shirts that are too short.”

The whole thing was mortifying. I had left the house feeling beautiful and happy; 10 minutes later, I was sitting in the health office crying, feeling completely humiliated.

To which I responded, “Funny it only happens to me.”

I’ll admit that that sassy remark was disrespectful, and as unfairly as I felt I was being treated, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. But I used to think that Oak Park was free from unfair dress codes, considering that most everyone walked around school in basically whatever they wanted. Yet for some reason, I had been called out that day for an outfit that, granted, was not the most conservative, but was not particularly revealing either.

As I sat in the health office waiting for a “more appropriate” shirt, I felt embarrassed and angry. And although rage was coursing through my veins, my frustration exhibited itself in the form of tears. The whole thing was mortifying. I had left the house feeling beautiful and happy; 10 minutes later, I was sitting in the health office crying, feeling completely humiliated.

The whole ordeal took about 35 minutes. It was a minimum day, so I had missed half of history class.

I was given a late slip and left the office.

Maybe this was just a small thing. The dress coding itself wasn’t a big deal, I suppose. But it stands for so much more.

Rather than a girl enjoying the best weather we’ve had in awhile, I am reduced to my body. Who I am, a smart, ambitious and body-positive young adult, fades away now that my shirt doesn’t quite meet the top of my skirt. Being knocked down like this — by a school policy, no less — feels terrible.

And I am made to feel like this because the covering of my midriff will supposedly prevent the distraction of my peers while I’m in class. According to Oak Park’s dress code, appropriate dress “should not be disruptive or distracting to classroom or other students’ behavior.”

But I certainly didn’t find that whopping centimeter of my midriff very distracting, and I doubt that my classmates would either, considering that, in this day and age, midriff is a regular sight, not a scandalous show of skin. This, however, makes sense because our current dress code was put in place even before our current administrators were hired.

When I spoke to him and the other administrators about the matter later on, Mr. Buchanan said, “I don’t believe that girls wearing a bare midriff is somehow distracting to the boys’ education. That’s the boys’ fault, that’s not the girls’ fault.” So why then, does the dress code call my midriff distracting and force me to change clothes?

This issue came up frequently in my discussion with the administrators. Each articulated that he in no way wanted to shame students for their clothes. Yet, Mr. Buchanan also said, “I have no desire to change the dress code. I think the dress code is appropriate right now.”

In a time of impossible beauty standards, it’s already difficult enough to feel good about one’s body. Discouraging messages certainly aren’t going help young girls’ self-esteem in the ongoing struggle to be happy with one’s body.

On that same Friday, I heard a boy call a girl a slut for the loose button-up shirt that covered her shorts, and I couldn’t help but notice the connection between this and the events of earlier that morning. The administrators had decided earlier to promote the idea that decent and upright girls totally cover up. They set a standard that allows boys — and even other girls — to call a young girl a slut if she dare show a little bit of skin.

I know our administration isn’t doing this on purpose – they’re trying their best to keep Oak Park appropriate.  But intentional or not, the message is being sent.

In a time of impossible beauty standards, it’s already difficult enough to feel good about one’s body. Discouraging messages certainly aren’t going help young girls’ self-esteem in the ongoing struggle to be happy with one’s body.

Yet I can’t actually be sure what values the administration is trying to impose upon me, because it’s so inconsistent. Mr. Buchanan acknowledged this: “We don’t catch them all. Just like the cops don’t catch everybody who’s speeding, right? I’m sure that the one bare midriff we caught today, there may have been three or four others we didn’t catch.” He also revealed that of the one or two students being dress-coded per week, they’re “predominantly female.”

I can say with certainty that the number of students they don’t catch is greater than three or four.  But, as Mr. Buchanan said, “We don’t have dress code police. If we see it, if you happen to walk past us while you’re violating dress code, you may get caught, you may not.”

The dress code also states that “students may not wear … pants that drop below the waistband of their undergarments.” If my midriff poses enough of a distraction to intervene, then I’d like to point out that so does the guy whose pants are hanging off his butt so that the whole world can see his underwear. So why aren’t more guys getting dress-coded when there are definitely plenty of guys who have their underwear showing?

I’m not asking for radical change. No one wants to go to school and see everyone’s everything hanging out and about. But I do ask that some changes be made to Oak Park’s dress code policy.

Small things matter when they present huge implications, and hold huge consequences.

First and foremost, the administration should carefully consider what “appropriate” truly means. Ripped jeans are allowed, but what is the difference between seeing my some of my knee and seeing some of my stomach?

Secondly, I like for the dress code to be more specific.  The administration believes it’s a slippery slope from allowing midriff to allowing everything. I disagree. Should the dress code clearly define what constitutes as midriff and what doesn’t, there shouldn’t be as issue. Rather than defining midriff in measurements and getting out a ruler, though, midriff could be defined using bodily reference points. For example: midriff is the section from above one’s hips to the bottom of one’s ribs. There’s little gray area where the location of body parts is concerned. Additionally, making the dress code more specific will help the students differentiate between which rules will be enforced and which won’t because parameters will be more distinct.

Finally, to enforce the dress code, campus supervisors should be told to enforce it the same way other rules are enforced, rather than making it discretionary. After all, the dress code is just another set of rules, is it not? I don’t mean that students should be dress-coded left and right, but so long as the dress code is fair, then there should be consistent enforcement.

Unfair dress codes are representative of the systematic inequality that lies in objectifying girls’ bodies. Small things matter when they present huge implications, and hold huge consequences.

To our administration: I hope these implications matter to you.