Dress Codes and Dress "Code"

I was surprised that the New York Times coverage of the change in Senate dress codes did not draw a closer connection to one of its own stories, which appeared in the paper on Sunday, a couple days after Majority Leader Schumer--quietly and late on Friday, with the inevitable purpose of that timing: to bury the news--told the Senate of the change. That story appeared in the always target-rich Style section. It focused on the clothing choices of "Gen Z politicians," which it described as chock-full of Doc Martens, berets, and mismatches. As is fairly common, the sub-headline to the story drew on a passage from the story, but altered and subtly it, in a way that called attention to the story's actual meaning. The sub-headline reads, "Many of the country’s youngest elected officials hope to express authenticity through their clothing choices." The actual line in the piece is that "some [of the lawmakers interviewed] said their clothing choices reflect a priority to appear authentic."

I have added the emphasis but one hardly needs to. One doesn't need a keen eye to spot the difference between being authentic, whatever that means, and having "a priority to appear authentic." Perhaps the subhed could be rescued if one read "express authenticity" as "convey authenticity" or "perform authenticity." But I don't think that's what it was trying to convey. And what it does seem to convey is certainly not expressed in the interviews themselves, which features many clothing labels and bold assertions, little originality, and occasionally, a clearer glimpse at intentions. Thus, one lawmaker says, a little sadly and a little strategically, "I feel like there’s a direct connection between Doc Martens, and a certain style, and progressive young people." Another says, "I wear what I want to wear" and "I'm my own gal"; that turns out to mean Ann Taylor, Ralph Lauren, and Calvin Klein, but not in matching sets. And a third--again with the Doc Martens!--"has also been known to wear a black beret, a style of hat adopted by the Black Panthers, at public appearances," and says "it felt me." But it is also necessarily a costume--more specifically, an "I am invoking the Black Panthers" costume--and he acknowledges that it has become a politically useful recognition tool. Someone from an organization that supports candidates from historically marginalized groups tells the paper, "They can only be who they are....They are just unwilling to pretend in a way that is really appreciated." The story of course makes it clear that a quote like this is itself a politically useful performance of independence and authenticity. It's uniforms all the way down.

It's hard not to read this piece alongside the Senate dress code change, which has occasioned two Times stories: one is a reasonably straightforward recounting and the other is a reasonably straightforward bit of partisan propaganda and apologetics under the guise of a "Congressional Memo." The gist of that rather Internet-meme-heavy piece is that this is a bunch of "hand-wringing" by mostly Republican hypocrites--that the change raises the genuine (and to my mind interesting) question "what it means to show respect for the body in which one serves," but that the complainers live and act too awfully, in ways the column lists at length and with relish, to have any standing to object. For good measure, it raises the "how dare you worry about issue X when you could be worrying about issues A-W" objection, a favorite of social media and almost never a sound one. In fairness, if the piece is itself a bit of a performance, the people complaining in the piece are themselves performing, making a loud show of outrage for the cameras, which is why they are predominantly Republican. For their own electoral and political reasons, the Democrats would naturally complain or express concern mostly in private, and I don't doubt that some or even many have.

My own view, as an institutionalist and as one more in an endless number of people who believe in the importance of shoring up our institutions and respect for them (even if often undeserved) in a time of increasing assault on them, and perhaps increasing indifference to the idea of institutions as such, is that the change is bad and a bad idea, and that it's understandable that Schumer, who is not much of an institutionalist, did his best to do it all on the QT. For possibly the first and last time in my life, I think Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, despite her own manifest and multivarious failings in the fields of institutionalism and basic dignity and respect, gets it right when she says, "Dress code is one of society’s standards that set etiquette and respect for our institutions." That is correct, the messenger notwithstanding. And, of course, the leading indication that the change is neither progressive nor evolutionary is that it applies to the senators alone and not to the many officers who work hard on the Senate floor daily, or the many staffers who regularly visit the floor. (The second Times piece, once it has almost exhausted its partisan purposes, gets around to this in the last two paragraphs of the story, although even then it does its best to paint it as a typically Democratic concern, despite the fact that only one Democrat voiced it and the story otherwise paints most Democrats as being right about not objecting.) The proper description of a rule change that applies only to the members of the Senate and not to its staff is decadent and aristocratic.

I should offer two caveats, one institutionalist in nature and one personal. The first is that I am of course not opposed to changes in a dress code over time. They are inevitable, just like all institutional change, and frequently positive. Some of those interstitial changes strike me as perfectly in keeping with the idea of a respectful dress code even as they mark real changes and efforts at inclusion. Religious headgear, for instance--the newsier Times piece notes that Rep. Ilhan Omar wears a hijab in the House--is perfectly respectful, both to oneself and to the institution; it's neither sloppy nor casual as such. Other changes are no doubt subject to debate; as someone with two fused ankles who relies on comfortable footwear to avoid shuffling around like Frankenstein's monster, I am sympathetic to the appearance of "dress sneakers," but happy to let the point be argued. At any given time, probably most will converge on the view that other items, such as Sen. Cruz's sweaty gym clothes or Sen. Fetterman's hoodies and shorts, are outside the realm of current acceptability. (I would hesitate more over the latter, given his recent illnesses, but he has in fairness been performing political "authenticity" through his clothing choices for a long time.) One may be especially respectful of the fact of change given, to put it in the usual academic terms, the potentially gendered, racialized, and sexualized nature of dress codes. But one can be respectful of that fact, and welcoming of relevant changes, without either thinking erroneously and disrespectfully that any category of person rejects the idea of respectful and dignified dress, or concluding that the best response is simply to have nothing at all--let alone thinking that the best response is to have nothing at all unless you're staff.

The second note is that people sometimes talk about professorial dress codes, and if there were one I would not meet it and would probably ignore or defy it. I am still flabbergasted when I visit some law schools, especially fancy-pants (so to speak) schools, and find suits or their equivalent to be the professorial order of the day. As I've said here before, only in such a lockstep environment could Duncan Kennedy's famed leather jackets be taken as a meaningful act. I generally don't care what my colleagues wear, and especially not what my junior colleagues wear. But I wouldn't build a rule around my choices, and in any event wouldn't call what I wear "authentic"--even when I wear my own (orthotic-modified) Doc Martens. It's closer, perhaps, to a tribute to the sadly disappearing tradition of academic eccentricity, and thus also a kind of performance. Of course students, and the classroom, demand respect, and I hope I give it, in however left-handed a fashion. But the classroom is still not the United States Senate.