Our foremothers fought long and hard so women could be taken seriously. So why, when I opened my New York Times this morning, did I see the image of an attorney on the front page, whose hair was dyed blonde to make her look like what we used to call "blonde bimbos." I wrote an essay some years back on this topic for Skirt Magazine.
I first noticed this trend among women lawyers back in 1992 when I arrived late to Torts class and sat up in the back. My eyes scanned down over my classmates and I was struck by all the dark roots. And all the dyed blonde heads. This was before the rest of the country went blonde. Back when women professionals used to arrive at work fully clothed. Now, 15 years later, it's hard to find a woman in a law firm that doesn't have a see-through blouse unbuttoned to her bra-line, short skirts, bare legs and brightly painted toes stuffed into stiletto heels. Watching women walk around law firms these days is like watching re-runs of the Loveboat. What happened?
Please don't start me on the whole, "Women should stop trying to be like men," nonsense. For the last time, pants are not male and neither are shoulder pads. Shoulder pads are placed in men's jackets to make their shoulders look broader and to make them look more powerful. Why are we afraid of women looking powerful is the question we should be asking.
Meanwhile, these women show up, half-naked and dressed like prostitutes, and insist on being treated exactly the same as the men and paid the same as the men. I don't blame men for being confused because I sure am. If I needed a lawyer and one showed up with chemicals all over her head and couldn't be bothered to wear some kind of stockings or socks or put a jacket on, and a man showed up well-groomed with his normal hair color and a buttoned up shirt - and socks! - I'd hire him in a heartbeat, because clearly he shows better judgment.
If I learned anything during the two years I lived in a college sorority (yes, it's true), it's that women dress like their mothers and date men like their fathers. Thank you, Mom, for setting a standard for dressing professionally, stylishly and with some dignity. And I'll thank you again, silently, next time I get in the elevator with one of the young women in my building carrying a briefcase and trying to tug down the shirt that doesn't fully cover her stomach, exposing her red thong underwear to the world.