I have a problem. Here I am, a grown-ass woman, with all the advantages that I could wish for – a great marriage, a nice home, friends, and neighbors who care, a wonderful family. As I count my many blessings, I feel embarrassed to say so, but there is one vital thing that I sorely lack: Pockets
In the “olden days”, which don’t seem *that* long ago, all my clothes had pockets – overcoats, of course, slacks, jeans, shirts, skirts, sweaters – even my loafers had mini-pockets so that you could slip a penny in your shoes. (It was a thing – trust me!) Nowadays, there is nary a pocket to be found! God, I miss having pockets!
Why do I need pockets? Well, let’s start with the obvious and work our way to the subtle:
Say, you’re out on a walk with friends. Of course, you don’t want to schlep your purse for a 40-minute walk, so you don’t. You’ve got allergies and you live next door to a hay fever factory (farm). You sneeze. . . not a dainty, feminine, barely audible sneeze, but a big, robust, deafening sneeze! You/ve got the Dracula move down and cover your nose and mouth with the inside of your elbow, but there is still – what shall I say? – moist residue on your face, and also on your sleeve. You need a tissue! But wait! You didn’t bring one because – NO POCKETS! You ask your friends. They don’t have one either because they’re women, too – and the fashionistas have decreed that women don’t need pockets. (More about that later!) Except occasionally for those pathetic little dips in the fabric of your leggings that barely fit a stick of gum. You see my problem?
And here’s something else – Pockets are good for hiding your hands. Say you haven’t had a professional manicure in 5 years – or. . .ever. (What’s the point if your hands are constantly in water or digging in the garden?) You can still look polished and put together if you’ve got pockets! If you don’t – all the cute hairstyles in the world, snappy outfits, and cool shoes will not save you!
And of course, pockets are warm! So, unless you wear gloves – another relic from the horse-and-buggy days which will definitely peg you as a senior past her sell-by date – you’re screwed. I have lived in Southern California for at least half my life, so although I don’t live in the frozen tundra, my skin is paper-thin, and when the temperature dips below sixty, my extremities form icicles. (And since you’ve asked, yes, I wear gloves anyway.)
I notice that my husband still has plenty of pockets – He has a couple of jackets that have about 16 of them! Deep ones. Inside pockets. Outside pockets. All his shirts have pockets, as do his jeans! Those pockets are ginormous! He can plunge his hands down in front of his hips at will! I am so jealous. He also has very nice pockets in the back, but I think they’re just for show.
At some point, the fashion gods decreed that women didn’t need and therefore should not have pockets. I think it was a conspiracy to make us buy expensive handbags to match all our outfits. (I have one purse. It goes with me everywhere. I’ve decided that seafoam green is the new black.)
Well, I say – Resist! Women of the World Unite! Rise Up Against the Tyranny of the Clothing Industry! Demand Pockets! Big, Honking Pockets that would hold a small child – or at least, your keys and your phone.
© Robin Munson