Tag Archives: fashion

Pockets! revisited

In 2018, I wrote a post titled “Pockets!”  [https://susanjustwrites.com/2018/01/] 

I began with these words: “Women’s clothes should all have pockets!”

My focus: How important it was for women to have clothes with roomy pockets.  Why?  For a fundamental reason: Freedom.  The freedom men have, to carry possessions close to their bodies, allowing them to reach for essentials like keys without fumbling through a clumsy handbag.

Although I’ve often wanted to return to this focus, other critical topics have demanded my attention.  What has inspired me to return to this focus now?

In June, I came across a book review in The New York Times that made me aware of a leading women’s fashion designer I had never heard of:  Claire McCardell.  The review noted that, in this biography, Claire McCardell: The Designer Who Set Women Free, author Elizabeth Dickinson noted McCardell’s penchant for pockets

I quickly got a copy of this new book.  I learned that McCardell, a prominent designer in the 1930s, ‘40s, and early ‘50s, consistently added pockets to her designs of women’s clothes.  She was an ingenious and daring designer in other respects as well:  inventing mix-and-match separates, introducing hoodies, denim, and more.  She advocated wearing ballet flats instead of high heels, she banned confining corsets, and she insisted on pockets, even though male designers usually stood in her way.  As early as 1933, in her first real job, she wanted every dress and skirt to include pockets.  (Pants for women were still on the drawing board—a topic for another day.)

This book notes that pockets had been around since the 1600s.  Originally, in men’s breeches.  But men opposed pockets for women, largely because they feared that women might conceal dangerous or threatening items:  “The more a woman could stash on her person, the more freedom she had to act.”

When McCardell was growing up, “suffragists and dress reformers fought for pocket parity.”  In 1915, author and social reformer Charlotte Perkins Gilman noted that American designers “ignored the practical needs of women” and kept pockets out of women’s clothes.  McCardell took a stand against this history.  “She wanted pockets and believed that other women did, too.”  But she had to get her design ideas past the men who dominated the American fashion industry.  It became a constant struggle.  But as one journalist noted: “Because Claire’s basic principle of design is that the wearer should feel comfortable, she puts pockets into almost everything.

In the 1940s, Diana Vreeland, the influential fashion editor at Harper’s Bazaar, shared Claire’s “love of pockets,” condemning bulky handbags: “Cigarettes, lipstick, powder, a small comb, money—it should all go into pockets,” she wrote.  “Real pockets, like a man has, for goodness’ sake.”  Vreeland added, ”Of course, you’d [need] much bigger pockets, and they’d be rather chic.”

According to author Dickinson, Claire has “never been forgotten by the world’s fashion designers….” Designer Tory Burch in 2022 created a spring collection inspired by her designs, and in 2023 the Costume Design Institute at the Met mounted an exhibit featuring women designers and celebrated Claire.  Dickinson concludes: “We are the inheritors of her brave risks, her experiments, and her singular focus.”

But what has happened to her focus on pockets?

Here’s what I wrote in 2018, revised just a little.  (I’ll follow it with a brief update.)

Women’s clothes should all have pockets. 

I admit it.  I’m a pocket-freak. When I shop for new pants, I don’t bother buying new pants, no matter how appealing, if they don’t have pockets.  Why?

Because when I formerly bought pants that didn’t have pockets, I discovered over time that I never wore them. They languished forever in a shameful pile of unworn clothes.

It became clear that I liked the benefits of wearing pants with pockets.  Why then would I buy new pants without pockets when those I already had were languishing unworn?

Result:  I simply don’t buy no-pocket pants anymore

Most jeans have pockets, often multiple pockets, and I like wearing them for that reason, among others.  [“They’re My Blue Jeans, and I’ll Wear Them If I Want To,” https://susanjustwrites.com/category/blue-jeans/.%5D Most jackets, but not all, have pockets.  Why not?  They all need pockets.  How useful is a jacket if it doesn’t have even one pocket to stash your stuff?

Dresses and skirts should also have pockets.  Maybe an occasional event, like a fancy gala, requires a form-fitting dress that doesn’t have pockets.  But how many women actually go to galas like that?  Looking back over my lifetime of clothes-wearing, I can think of very few occasions when I had to wear a no-pocket dress.  As for skirts, I lump them in the same category as pants.  Unless you feel compelled for some bizarre reason to wear a skin-tight pencil skirt, what good is a skirt without pockets?

Cardigan sweaters, like jackets, should also have pockets.  So should robes.  Pajamas. Even nightgowns.  I relish being able to stick a facial tissue into the pocket of a nightgown.  You never know when you’re going to sneeze, right?

By the way, I view fake pockets as an abomination.  Why do designers think it’s a good idea to put a fake pocket on their designs?  Sewing what looks like a pocket but isn’t a real pocket adds insult to injury.  Either put a real pocket there, or forget the whole thing.  Fake pockets?  Boo!

Despite the longing for pockets by women like me, it can be challenging to find women’s clothes with pockets.  Why?

Several women writers have speculated about this, usually blaming sexist attitudes leading to no-pocket clothing for women.  Those who’ve traced the evolution of pockets throughout history discovered that neither men nor women wore clothing with pockets until the 17th century.  Pockets in menswear began appearing in the late 1600s.  But women?  To carry anything, they were forced to wrap a sack with a string worn around their waists and tuck the sack under their petticoats.

These sacks eventually evolved into small purses called reticules that women would carry in their hands.  But reticules were so small that they limited what women could carry.  As the twentieth century loomed, women rebelled.  According to London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, dress patterns started to include instructions for sewing pockets into skirts.  And when women began wearing pants, they finally had pockets.

But things soon switched back to no-pocket pants.  The fashion industry insisted on “slimming” designs for women, while men’s clothes still had scads of pockets.  The result has been the rise of bigger and bigger handbags (interestingly, handbags are often called “pocketbooks” on the East Coast).

Enormous handbags create a tremendous burden for women.  Their size and weight can literally weigh a woman down, impeding her ability to move through her busy life the way men can.  I’ve eschewed bulky handbags, often wearing a backpack instead.  Unfortunately, backpacks are not always appropriate attire.

Today (in 2018), many women are demanding pockets.  Some have advocated pockets with the specific goal of enabling women to carry their iPhones or other cell phones that way.  I’m a pocket-freak, but according to recent scientific research, cell phones emit dangerous radiation, and this kind of radiation exposure is a major risk to your health.  Some experts in the field have therefore advised against keeping a cell phone adjacent to your body.  So, advocating pockets for that reason may not be a good idea.  [Please see my update below.]

We need pockets in our clothes for a much more important and fundamental reason:  Freedom.

Pockets give women the kind of freedom men have:  The freedom to carry possessions close to their bodies, allowing them to reach for essentials like keys without fumbling through a clumsy handbag.

I propose a boycott on no-pocket clothes.  If enough women boycott no-pocket pants, for example, designers and manufacturers will have to pay attention.  Their new clothing lines will undoubtedly include more pockets.

I hereby pledge not to purchase any clothes without pockets.

Will you join me?

Update in August 2025:

I still endorse almost everything I wrote in 2018.  But I have a few new thoughts:

First, instead of keeping my previously-purchased no-pocket pants in a shameful pile, I’ve donated almost all of them to charity. My hope is that shoppers will find some use for these pants, possibly using the fabric alone to create something wearable.

Next, although I’m still concerned about the radiation risk posed by cell phones, my thinking evolved during the pandemic. Instead of carrying a handbag/purse, I carry all my valuables on my person. [Please see susanjustwrites.com/2021/08/06/outsmarting-the-bad-guys/ ]  This includes my cell phone, which I now put in a roomy pants pocket whenever I leave home.  I’ve reduced the radiation risk by invariably removing my phone from my pocket as soon as I return home, where I place it in a prominent place (and try to remember where it is). A backpack can sometimes be useful, but I still prefer pockets.

Third, I haven’t been doing much shopping for new clothes in the past few years, but one item I occasionally seek out is new black pants or jeans.  After all, pants do wear out.  And I’ve been delighted to discover that many more pants are now available with pockets!  Is it possible that my advocacy of a boycott on no-pocket pants has had some effect?  I’d like to think so, but I doubt it.  I simply think that the fashion industry has finally come to acknowledge that women want pants with pockets, and the bigger the pockets the better.  By purchasing more and more pants with pockets, women themselves are now influencing what’s for sale.

One more thing:  When I recently read a book describing the efforts of many Italians to resist the fascist takeover of their country in the 1930s and ‘40s, I learned that Italian women often sewed large pockets into their voluminous skirts.  They filled those pockets with items like guns and explosives that were passed on and used to resist the fascists ruling their country.  These brave women helped the resistance overcome the fascists and return Italy to democracy.  Brava!!  Their history is inspiring.  But I truly hope that, here in the United States, we can preserve our democracy without having to resort to using pockets in this very scary way.

Declare your independence: Those high heels are killers!

HAPPY JULY!  Following a tradition I began several years ago, I’m once again encouraging women to declare their independence this July 4th and abandon wearing high-heeled shoes. I’ve revised this post for 2025. My newly revised post follows:

I’ve long maintained that high heels are killers.  I never used that term literally, of course.  I merely viewed high-heeled shoes as distinctly uncomfortable and an outrageous concession to the dictates of fashion that can lead to both pain and permanent damage to a woman’s body. 

Several years ago, however, high heels proved to be actual killers.  The Associated Press reported that two women, ages 18 and 23, were killed in Riverside, California, as they struggled in high heels to get away from a train.  With their car stuck on the tracks, the women attempted to flee as the train approached.  A police spokesman later said, “It appears they were in high heels and [had] a hard time getting away quickly.” 

During the past few years, largely dominated by the global pandemic, many people adopted different ways to clothe themselves.  Comfortable clothing became popular, and many women abandoned wearing high heels.  Staying close to home, they saw no need to push their feet into high heels.  Venues requiring professional clothes or footwear almost disappeared, and few women sought out venues requiring any sort of fancy clothes or footwear.  

But when the pandemic began to loosen its grip, some women were tempted to return to their previous choice of footwear.  The prospect of a renaissance in high-heeled shoe-wearing was noted in publications like The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal.  According to the Times, some were seeking “the joy of dressing up…itching…to step up their style game in towering heels.”

Okay. I get it.  “Dressing up” may be your thing.  But “towering heels”?  They may look beautiful…BUT don’t do it!  Please take my advice and don’t return to wearing the kind of shoes that will hobble you once again.

Like the unfortunate young women in Riverside, I was sucked into wearing high heels when I was a teenager.  It was de rigueur for girls at my high school to seek out the trendy shoe stores on State Street in downtown Chicago and purchase whichever high-heeled offerings our wallets could afford.  On my first visit, I was entranced by the three-inch-heeled numbers that pushed my toes into a too-narrow space and revealed them in what I thought was a highly provocative position.  Never mind that my feet were encased in a vise-like grip.  Never mind that I walked unsteadily on the stilts beneath my soles.  And never mind that my whole body was pitched forward in an ungainly manner as I propelled myself around the store. 

But during one wearing of those heels, the pain became so great that I removed them and walked in stocking feet the rest of my way home.  After that painful lesson, I abandoned three-inch heels and began wearing lower ones. Sure, I couldn’t flaunt my shapely legs quite as effectively, but I nevertheless managed to secure ample male attention.  Instead of conforming to the modern-day equivalent of Chinese foot-binding, I successfully and happily fended off the back pain, foot pain, bunions, and corns that my fashion-victim sisters often suffer in spades.

I’ve been joined in my rejection of high heels by a prominent journalist, Sally Quinn.  In an opinion piece in The Washington Post on July 5, 2024, she wrote, “I never thought I’d abandon high heels. But I did. It wasn’t the pandemic. It was the pain.”  I wonder whether Quinn has taken notice of my opinion-writing on this topic because she echoes my thinking.  She admits that she liked the way her legs looked in high heels, but the pain she endured during a lifetime of wearing them finally pushed her over the edge.  I recommend reading her piece in the Post as another thoughtful rejection of high heels.

Until the pandemic changed our lives, I observed a troubling trend toward higher and higher heels.  I was baffled by women who bought into following the dictates of fashion and the desire to look “sexy” by wearing extremely high heels.  Watching TV, I’d see too many women wearing stilettos that forced them into the ungainly walk I briefly sported so long ago.  Women on late-night TV shows who were otherwise smartly attired and often very smart (in the other sense of the word) wore ridiculously high heels that forced them to greet their hosts with that same awkward walk.  Some appeared to be almost on the verge of toppling over. 

The pandemic no longer dominates our lives, but this phenomenon has sadly reappeared.  Otherwise enlightened women are once again wearing absurdly high heels.  Even one of my favorite TV journalists, Stephanie Ruhle, has appeared on her “11th Hour” program on MSNBC in stilettos.  C’mon, Steph!  Dump those stilettos!

What about the women, like me, who adopted lower-heeled shoes instead of following fashion?  I think we’re much smarter and much less likely to fall on our faces.  One very smart woman who’s still a fashion icon agreed with us long ago: the late Hollywood film star Audrey Hepburn.  

Audrey dressed smartly, in both senses of the word.  I recently watched her 1963 film Charade for the tenth or twelfth time. I once again noted how elegant she appeared in her Givenchy wardrobe and her–yes–low heels. Audrey was well known for wearing comfortable low heels in her private life as well as in her films.  In Charade, she’s seen running up and down countless stairs in Paris Metro stations, chased by Cary Grant, not only on those stairs but also through the streets of Paris.  She couldn’t have possibly done all that frantic running in high heels!

More recently, the Cannes Film Festival has highlighted a few Hollywood stars who’ve rejected stilettos. Julia Roberts walked barefoot in 2016 rather than wear them, and Kristen Stewart notably changed from heels to sneakers in 2018.  Stewart also appeared in sneakers on a late-night TV show in March 2024.

Foot-care professionals have soundly supported my thinking.  According to the American Podiatric Medical Association, a heel that’s more than 2 or 3 inches makes comfort just about impossible.  Why? Because a 3-inch heel creates seven times more stress than a 1-inch heel. A noted foot and ankle surgeon has explained that after 1.5 inches, the pressure increases on the ball of the foot and can lead to “ball-of-the-foot numbness.” (Yikes!)  He advised against wearing 3-inch heels and pointed out that celebrities wear them for only a short time, not all day.  To ensure a truly comfortable shoe, he added, no one should go above a 1.5-inch heel. 

Before the pandemic, some encouraging changes were afoot.  Nordstrom, one of America’s major shoe-sellers, began to promote lower-heeled styles. Although stilettos hadn’t disappeared from the scene, they weren’t the only choices.  I was encouraged because Nordstrom is a bellwether in the fashion world, and its choices can influence shoe-seekers.  Then the pandemic arrived and changed shoe-purchasing.  During the first year, sales of high heels languished, “teetering on the edge of extinction,” according to the Times

But because the pandemic has now dissipated to a large extent, some women may have resurrected the high heels already in their closets.  They may even be inspired to buy new ones.  I hope they don’t.

There is heartening news from bellwether Nordstrom.  In its brand-new catalog for summer 2025, it features pages of stylish sneakers and other flat-heeled shoes. A couple of low-heeled shoes appear, but stilettos are nowhere to be found.

Let’s not forget the Gen Z generation.  Most Gen Z shoppers don’t follow the dictates of fashion. They largely eschew high heels, choosing pricey and often glamorous sneakers instead–even with dressy prom dresses.

My own current faves: I wear black Skechers almost everywhere (I own more than one pair).  Sketchers “step-ins” are a welcome new addition.  I occasionally choose my old standby, Reeboks, for serious walking. (In my novel Red Diana, the protagonist laces on her Reeboks for a lengthy jaunt, just as I do.) I’ve added a pair of Ryka sneakers–so far so good.   And in warm weather, I wear walking sandals, like those sold by Clarks, Teva, and Ecco.

Any women who are pondering buying high-heeled shoes should hesitate.  Beyond the issue of comfort and damage to your feet, please remember that high heels present a far more serious problem.  As the deaths in Riverside demonstrate, women who wear high heels may be putting their lives at risk.  When they need to flee a dangerous situation, high heels can handicap their ability to escape. How many needless deaths have resulted from hobbled feet? 

The Fourth of July is almost here.  As we celebrate the holiday this year, I once again urge the women of America to declare their independence from high-heeled shoes

If you’re thinking about returning to painful footwear, think again.  You’d be wise to reconsider.  I urge you to bravely gather any high heels you’ve been clinging to and throw those shoes away At the very least, keep them out of sight in the back of your closet.  

And don’t even think about buying new ones.  Shod yourself instead in shoes that allow you to walk in comfort—and if need be, to run

Your wretched appendages, yearning to be free, will be forever grateful.

Should we “dress our age”?

 Every morning, if we’re not staying in our pajamas all day (which we may well choose to do), we need to decide:  Which items of clothing do I want to wear that day?

Last month, the fashion director and chief fashion critic for The New York Times, Vanessa Friedman, asked “What does it mean to ‘dress your age’?”

This question strikes me as pretty silly. Friedman used it to fill up space in her newspaper, space that deserved a less trivial topic. But I’ve decided to focus on it for a moment.

Here’s my question:  When we decide what to wear each morning, are we supposed to focus on the number of years we’ve lived so far?

Balderdash!

My answer:  Forget about your age!  Who cares?  “Age” is a number, but each person has an individual relationship with that number.  Joe Biden at 81 handles domestic and global issues with considerable aplomb, and film director Martin Scorsese at 81 continues to direct outstanding films, while much younger people struggle with their grocery lists.

Your decision should mostly depend not on your age but on how you spend your day.  Do you spend your day in a workplace?  Workplaces vary tremendously, and your clothing should conform to where you work.  A desk job in an office is very different from a job in a farm or factory setting.

Perhaps you work from home.  Your choices will probably depend on whether you never see another human being or you do see others when you appear in a meeting on Zoom.  And if you spend your day at home with no work commitment, you’ll want to satisfy your own goals.

Your decision will also depend on how your clothes fit and whether you like the way you look in them.

But dressing your age?

Let’s not forget that Friedman’s perspective is that of a working NYC journalist with an undoubtedly healthy income. While she mentions that “strict social or cultural rules about what to wear as you age don’t really exist anymore,” she agrees with me that “how you dress is a statement about who you are and how you want to be perceived.”  She thinks “that changes as we grow up.”  So she has “said goodbye to clothes I generally associate with my youth,” like hemlines above the knee.  She’s now “gravitating toward long skirts…and wider trousers,” which give her “a swishy feeling” when she walks. 

Exactly where is Friedman walking? Maybe that works for her, but I can’t imagine seeking out “a swishy feeling” when I walk. Negotiating city streets as I stroll through my neighborhood, I need clothes I can move in quickly, zooming through crosswalks without getting hit by careless drivers. [Please see my blog post, “Thank you for not killing me,” https://susanjustwrites.com/2021/08/.%5D  

Even a New York Times fashion expert should get real.  How many women want to get that “swishy feeling” when they walk?  How many can afford to or even want to when they have far more important things to worry about?

From my point of view, it’s simple: You should wear what you think is comfortable and, if you like, clothes you think look good on you.

I never consider my age when I get dressed.  I tend to choose clothes I find comfortable, eschewing anything that’s so tight that buttons gap and waistbands pinch.  My go-to clothes are black t-shirts and black pants, which are both comfy and make me feel OK about how I look.  Because I primarily work from home, sitting in front of my desktop computer, I usually don’t worry about how I look to others.  When I do leave home, my attire depends on where I’m going and who will be there. 

I generally try to “outsmart the bad guys” by wearing fairly worn-out and dumpy garb. [Please see my blog post, https://susanjustwrites.com/2021/08/06/outsmarting-the-bad-guys/.%5D These are just fine when I walk around my neighborhood.  But if I’m going to be seen by people I know, I’ll make other choices.  Still comfy but not quite so dumpy.

Women in my daughters’ age-range make choices that work for them.  My older daughter has a hybrid working environment, part-time working from home, often appearing in meetings on Zoom, and sometimes showing up at her office.  So she wears whatever suits the occasion. Her taste is impeccable.  But she also chooses comfort as much as possible.  My younger daughter works almost exclusively from home and invariably chooses comfort.  But when she has an occasional meeting on Zoom, she aims at looking a bit more spiffy.

My teenage granddaughters, members of Gen Z, may be the only people in my life who “dress their age.”  They’re dazzling in whatever they wear, but they tend to choose clothes their contemporaries are wearing. (Didn’t we do that when we were teenagers?)  They also express their own style by wearing t-shirts and sweatshirts featuring a favored university, a city they’ve traveled to, or a popular band.  On occasion, they’ll wear semi-glamorous dresses for major social events, but basically you’ll find them in jeans and a t-shirt.

Friedman concludes by applauding the choices of women of a certain age “who look as if they know who they are and are comfortable telegraphing that to the world.”  She lists five or six Hollywood actresses, privileged women who can spend gobs of money on what they wear.  Maybe they’re good examples of “dressing their age.”  (At that level of privilege, I’d add.) This, Friedman says, means “making your own decisions about what makes you feel good, wide pants and all.” 

Pretty much what I said, right?  Except for the wide pants.

I’ll conclude with my favorite mantra.  It appears on a button I wear and a plaque I display in my living room:  “She could see no good reason to act her age.”

That goes for clothing-choices, too.