I hardly wear miniskirts- mostly because I don’t have Tina Turner or Gwyneth Paltrow or Lupita Nyong’o legs. If I had Tina Turner or Gwyneth Paltrow or Lupita Nyong’o legs, I would probably wear miniskirts a lot more. I would have different shaped miniskirts for my girls’ nights out, lots of multi-coloured ones for the warm summer days and a good number of hot little numbers for dinners out with the hubby. I wouldn’t wear miniskirts while lounging at home though. My tracks and jeans are a lot more practical for this scenario.
I also wouldn’t wear a miniskirt to a job interview because I would probably be given as much seriousness as the guy who walked into one of my interviews with ankle-length-crotch-hugging pants- true story.
I wouldn’t wear a mini skirt in July (the Kenyan July, I mean) unless I wore it with thick stockings and boots.
I also wouldn’t wear a miniskirt while visiting my parents in my shags because then people would put me in a certain box, which actually doesn’t matter to me, but then I wouldn’t want to put my parents through their crap.
I also wouldn’t wear a mini skirt in certain parts of Nairobi- you know the parts that are swarming with idlers- up for any kind of drama that will help them take out their frustrations on something or someone packaged just right.
I would never wear a miniskirt if I was taking a matatu to downtown Nairobi- or anywhere else in this country come to think of it.
Neither would I wear a miniskirt to a funeral…though having said that, I wouldn’t mind it if all the women coming to my funeral showed some leg…if only to prolong the conversations about my ‘last day’ on earth.
In the ‘I wouldn’t wear a miniskirt’ conversation, many scenarios come to mind for me.
Now in an ideal world, I should have Lupita Nyongo’s legs and be able to show these off as and when I please.
But we don’t live in and ideal world, we live in a world where we have to dress in a certain kind of way if we want to land that job; a world in which we have to look a certain kind of frumpy to be accepted in shags; a world where certain dress codes are forbidden in certain locations.
So while #mydressmychoice, is all the talk right now with my full support need I add, I am still well aware of the fact that we don’t live in an ideal world. We apparently live in a #mydressyourchoice kinda world.
If this were an ideal world, those men who stripped a woman in Embasava would not still be roaming our streets; in an ideal world no one else would have dared strip another woman after the Embasava incident- because in an ideal world we would all just live and let the mini skirt wearers live. It’s a new millennium for heaven’s sake – fourteen years into the new millennium, in fact. We don’t dress the way they did in 1960! Oh but wait a minute, in 1960, mini skirts is exactly how they dressed. I wonder how many of them were stripped then? Something is definitely off here. We don’t only NOT live in an ideal world- we live in a very twisted world.