Woke bullying

When I saw this question on Slate (or, rather, Slate's paid-for Facebook post), I immediately assumed that the writer would be sneered at. I was pleasantly surprised to discover the advice columnist actually sided with her gentle reader--until I saw that this response was from 1998. The 2024 update was not so chummy.

Dear Prudence,

Granted, I am not young, but I am not a fuddy-duddy either. Are you reacting to all the blue nail polish, body piercings, spiky hair, and nose rings? Sometimes the young salespeople are so strange looking it is distracting. Am I nuts and just out of it?

—Thanks,

Fussy or Normal

Original Response:

Dear Fuss,

Prudie—not young but not a fuddy-duddy, either—couldn’t agree with you more. Often feeling like a lobotomized dowager, Prudie blanches when she sees some of the young people, frequently wondering how it is possible that they think they look appealing. There is hope, though. When they grow a little older and get serious about becoming employed, the green hair and atavistic piercings disappear. Alas, we seem to be stuck with the odd-colored nail polish–purple, blue, and green being Prudie’s unfavorites.

—Prudie, wistfully
From: Dear Prudence (Sept. 5, 1998).

Advice From the Future:

Dear Fuss,

Today, you and Prudie would indeed be called fuddy-duddies by the majority of generations. While I hope that in the intervening decades, you’ve come to embrace colorful hair, piercings, and tattoos a bit more than at the time of your letter, I understand if you’re still resistant to them. There are still many folks who struggle with these modes of expression being so common and, in some cases, so visually “loud.”

It’s not for me to police your likes and preferences when out and about in society. But what I find inspiring about the way we more freely adorn ourselves today relates precisely to Prudie’s reply, in which she wonders how it is that today’s young people think they look appealing. The adults I know who dye, ink, and pierce themselves do not do it to “look appealing” (to others, it is implied); they do it because it pleases themselves. We are amidst a cultural awakening, still gaining force, in which we are getting smarter about valuing ourselves regardless of the opinions of others. We are pushing back at dress codes that police women’s bodies rather than men’s behavior. We are removing appearance codes from the office and judging employees instead on the quality of their work. We are not perfect by any means, but we are a lot more inclusive of the many ways to be in the world than we were 30 years ago. Were you writing to me today, Fuss, I would encourage you to focus on that fact. Green hair is a small price to pay for a society that is moving toward making space for everyone. —Allison

"It's not for me to police your likes and preferences---but." 

The part about being "amidst a cultural awakening" sent a chill down my spine, as does "a society that is moving forward, making space for everyone," for these are euphemisms and misdirections. In my experience, "making space for everyone" means excluding tradition-minded Christians. 

If a society is so atomized that people present themselves with no thought for how their appearance affects others, there is no society, not really. There are bodies moving through space, often plugged into electronic music devices, ignoring other bodies, except the most sexually appealing or physically frightening. There is no "we," except the "we" of the pink-haired mutilated people, snarling at the past behind the safety of their computer screens.

"You look very smart," said an elderly man in a wheelchair at Tesco. 

This was directed at me as I was buying goodness knows what just before going to a funeral. I had put an unusual amount of thought in my clothing, so as to convey respect for the deceased and her loved ones. Not too much black, as I was not family. Not too long a skirt, as I didn't want to stand out. I was wearing a black knee-length dress with navy tights, coat, gloves and hat, and richly coloured scarf to tone down my sartorial gloom. At Tesco I wore black flats; at the funeral I wore navy court heels. 

However, as the deceased was in the arts, it was not a huge surprise to me when a younger woman with Crayola hair and a multicolour-striped skirt got off the bus at the crematorium. Oddly, I was grateful to the clownish striped skirt (background colour black), for it signalled that I was in the right place at the right time. At the same time, of course, traditional funeral clothing would probably have sufficed for that. 

And I cannot help but remember the insult, uttered in a 1987 film, "In time you'll drop dead, and I'll come to your funeral in a red dress." One day this threat will make absolutely no sense to viewers in the Anglosphere because they will no longer share a common understanding of what is appropriate for important rituals. Among the majority, there will be no "we," no crowd of darkly clad mourners, and no folk dress.