Jean (Louise)'s Jeans: A Weapon of the Patriarchy?

Aunt Alexandra was fanatical on the subject of my attire. I could not possibly hope to be a lady if I wore breeches; when I said I could do nothing in a dress, she said I wasn't supposed to be doing things that required pants. Aunt Alexandra's vision of my department involved playing with small stoves, tea sets, and wearing the Add-A-Pearl necklace she gave me when I was born; furthermore, I should be a ray of sunshine in my father's lonely life. I suggested that one could be a ray of sunshine in pants just as well, but Aunty said that one had to behave like a sunbeam, that I was born good but had grown progressively worse every year. (Lee 92)

This is how I imagine Aunt Alexandra.

When Scout and Jem are at Finch's Landing for Christmas, the narrator Jean Louise introduces us to her Aunt Alexandra.

Now, personally, I am not a fan of AA, nor am I a fan of gender norms, and I love every sassy description JL gives us. I like picturing Aunt Alexandra as the über-woman, cleaning, baking, raising her pinky over tea, and hush hushing little boys. Everyone must have this kind of adult in their life: the kind that simply doesn't want you to be you.

Here we have the reigning AA trying to tell Scout what to wear. She's "fanatical," in fact, about Scout not wearing "breeches." And when Scout protests she "could do nothing in a dress"––say, climb a tree, jump into a stream, even run from danger––the tyrannical Auntie A responds that she shouldn't "be doing things that required pants."

Even this little moment in the novel illustrates how gender norms can oppress us in everyday ways. I know it may seem like the world's smallest violin, but let me add my own story.

I have a thing against women's clothes, too. Even today I'm wearing a dress with no pockets. I mean, why would you even make clothes without pockets? Here's the message it conveys: #1 I do not have any responsiblities. I don't need my phone, I don't need money, I don't need a pocketknife. All I need is to look pretty. So where do I put all my stuff? In the hands of my husband or boyfriend, of course. Believe it or not, pockets are political.

So, maybe it's obvious that dresses aren't always going to have pockets. I mean, if you're going to wear a dress in the first place, you're already bowing down to the patriarchy. So let's talk about breeches, as JL would call them.

At least twice I have lost my wallet (yes, I have a wallet) because it has fallen out of my teeny tiny jeans pockets. This happened in a local parking lot when I was getting out of my car (out of the driver's seat, mind you). Not only are women's jeans made so poorly I can't fit my wallet in them, but they are oppressive to my lady body. Not only do you not expect me to carry things around in my pockets, but you expect me to be 120 pounds of pilates-toned muscle that leaves a gap between my thighs? I'm sorry, but I actually have responsibilities (that require me to "wear the pants" so to speak), so I don't have all day to go to Cross Fit and drink smoothies so that my keys will fit in my jeans pocket.

I feel you, Jean Louise. I feel you, sister. 

Here's what I would do if I were her: I'd burn all my dresses with my Easy-Bake Oven and then shove the pearls into Aunty's teacup hoping she will choke on them.

It's women like her who inadvertently hold women like us back.