Will They Whisper If I Wear White?

I have two white skirts and four pairs of white slacks. In addition to those seven pieces I have three white dresses (not counting the wedding dress which was, to be honest, ivory).

You would not know that I have these pieces if you knew my personally. In fact, other than the wedding dress (which we aren't counting, remember?) you likely have never seen me in white clothing.

• I don't wear the white pants, skirts, and dresses because I am afraid of getting them stained.
• If they get stained I won't be able to wear them.

Basically; I have invented Schrödinger's clothing. I have white clothes to wear as long as I don't wear the white clothes I have.

In the Northern United States women my age are facing a societal conundrum that has no impact at all to anything but the outdated norms by which we were educated by our mother, aunties, and grandmothers.

I was taught that white skirts, slacks, dresses, and shoes are NOT to be worn after Labor Day. And Labor Day, which used to be the unofficial end of Summer and beginning of Fall, is in three days.

Using those facts I either need to execute wardrobe changes that will rival the latest Cher farewell tour for the next few days or resign myself to packing away these clothes until May of next year.

Why would I do that? Because those same societal norms stated that white clothing was to be worn from Memorial Day through Labor Day, and only during that timeframe.

I have found a few explanations regarding that arbitrary timeline for wearing white.

Marie Claire magazine explains that it COULD be considered a way to separate the Haves from the Have-Nots. White was resort wear, appropriate to take on vacation. For those in the city, to whom this rule might apply, work wear was typically darker suits and more serviceable fabrics (not to be marked by fountain pens and typewriter ribbons) that would withstand a commute and the normal smutty dirty office.

Although I can sympathize with the perils of indelible inks on white clothing, after all that is one of the reasons that I avoid wearing it myself, I am not sure if that is the case.

Mental Floss comes down hard on the snobbery angle, too, bringing the start of the practice all the way back to the opera houses of post-Civil War high-society. If a woman wore the wrong cut of sleeve, wrong corset, or (heavens!) wrong color she would be shut out of the old monied society.

Frankly, Scarlett, I don't see you listening to Miss Pittypat and standing for that practice.

Looking further, I consult that standby of practicality: Reader's Digest. Reader's Digest agrees that the ability to purchase vacation clothing was a sign of wealth and privilege. It also concurs that arbitrary and ever-changing rules about what is acceptable fashion and what isn't is also a way to let the Mean Girls feel good about themselves (I think I just editorialized Reader's Digest there, but I'm ok with it).

It seems like many sources agree the no-white after Labor Day is just a smug way to know, to quote Heidi Klum, who is 'in, and who will be out."

As the oldest of five children I wonder if our mothers, aunties, and grandmothers went along with this point of view because white clothes are just too darned hard to keep clean? I know when my mother bought school clothes for the family we each got one white shirt (mine ALWAYS had a Peter Pan collar. WHYYYYY?) and the rest were dark solid colors.

The younger children also had a fine assortment, in addition to our hand-me-downs, of colorful prints, sure to fool the eye should they gather spots and stains. The better to extend the life of the clothing by making the oopsies into part of the design.

Plus, I grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A steel town that got slammed in the winter by ice and snow, soot and slush. No white clothing from the waist down would survive the chore of shoveling and salting the walks, let alone sled rides and snowball fights.

Regardless of what online and print source I consult, though, all agree that we are free to wear whatever we want these days. I suspect that some fashionistas secretly mock us for our new pandemic wardrobe of comfy elastic waistbands and athleisure; they likely can't be bothered with the wearing of the white out if it’s time as a way to divide those-that know and them-that-don't.

But, back to me and my Walmart tote that waits to receive the bathing suits I didn't wear, the shorts of this Summer that didn't fit, and the white slacks, skirts, and dresses. I need to make a decision.

Will I be that confident fashion maven, serene in my ability to flout the scrutiny of others and keep my unworn wearables in possible rotation for the next few months?

Or will I pack them away, still ironed and hopeful from their Spring unpacking, and try again next year?

Who am I kidding? I bought a new pair of slacks (white! LINEN!) at Old Navy just this week during the 'Oh No! Summer Is Gone and we will NEVER Need these Clothes Again!" sale.

I'm going to need a bigger tote.

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Do you, or does someone you know, have this crazy conversation each year? If this story made you smile or else shake your head a little, please leave me a heart below, so I know.

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