Finally, triumphantly, I stood in front of my mirror, admiring my curvy legs in the darkest tights with pretty patterns of crisscrossing lines, $11 a pair. I was 20 when I tentatively began wearing them, though only the off-est black.
Ultimately, my burning desire for dark pantyhose overwhelmed my fear of God. We wanted to look pretty, to match our dark Shabbos clothes with perfect black tights. One rabbi went so far as to declare that if women would have less yiras garbayaim (“heavenly fear of colored tights”) and more yiras shamayim (“heavenly fear of heaven”), the Messiah would have long been here.įrom age 14 to 19, we pined. There were those who called it an obsession.
But with such legwear, it was explained, many an excellent marriage prospect stopped dead in its tracks. The girl who wore black tights was quickly relegated to class B, the “modern” type. High school teachers warned of the spiritual denigration. Dark pantyhose had once been in style in the world out there - no one could recall the decade or place - and hence, forbidden in here. But black, navy, brown or any other color was forbidden. If the temptation got too great, perhaps off-black. It was the basics of modesty drilled deep into the neural hemispheres of our brains: Legs must be covered at all times, preferably in opaque beige. Then there were the things one did not touch: red nail polish, 3-inch C-shaped earrings, gladiator sandals on platforms. It was really a matter of instinct, a feminine sixth sense well honed over years of practice: where to push, where to pull. We tucked T-shirts beneath sleeveless tops, long skirts under perfect mini-dresses. There was a clear framework with boundaries well marked, but still, there was room to play.
0 kommentar(er)
