Photo by William Krause on Unsplash

Remember the clamor to defund the police? Apparently, it has come to pass and I could not be more pleased. For all intents and purposes, The Fashion Police have become the first victim of defunding. It could not have happened to a more mean-spirited group.

The Fashion Police want to tell us what to wear, when and where. Unlike businesses of great value who have been sadly rent asunder by the coronavirus, The Fashion Police will not be missed. In fact, the one positive of the killer pandemic is the demise of The Fashion Police. COVID-19 has been the great equalizer in attire. The only item of clothing that is mandatory these days are those stifling masks. There is a circumvention.

Stay home.

Many have no choice. Businesses require them to work from home for their own safety and health and that of others. They are the new homebound. This has included students, though schools are beginning to allow them to return to the classroom. Those who do so may have to alter their clothing choices to meet school standards. (These are set by the adults but the ones that really count, if I remember, are those of your friends.)

Because I am retired and work from home in an area that our pest-control guy has deemed hazardous to all life, even what he has come to kill, my attire (mask excepted) has been unaffected by the pandemic. My choices are simple—shorts and T-shirts when it is warm to hot and sweatpants and sweatshirts (layered with T-shirts) when it is cold. In Northeast Ohio it is still cold and likely will continue to be so until at least the Fourth of July. So I am still wearing sweats. They are, as far as I am concerned, de rigueur.

In February I read an opinion piece in the Washington Post by Kenya Hunt. Smart and witty, Ms. Hunt informed me about Karl Lagerfeld whom she described as a “legendary designer.” My knowledge of legends is limited to those such as Vince Lombardi, Pro Football Hall of Fame Coach after whom the NFL’s Super Bowl Trophy is named. Is there a Lagerfeld Trophy? (After working for Chanel, he created his own fashion house and became renowned for his photography). I don’t think he has a trophy, though, and I hope not, because Lagerfeld once famously declared sweatpants “a sign of defeat.” “By that standard,” as Ms. Hunt concluded, “a year into COVID-19, we’ve all surrendered.”

She was speaking for herself, of course. No white flags waving here.

I read, write, run errands, and, in my sweatpants and sweatshirts, breathe very carefully. The latter are crewneck over a T-shirt for around the house, with variable weights of hoodies—light, medium, or heavy—as the outer layer for walking five miles or so around a megachurch that has a walking path but which I eschew in favor of the smoother parking lot, portions of which were recently repaved (I think specifically for me). I am a veritable Fashion Plate. The Deputy Sheriff who drives through when I am walking must agree with my assessment, that or he is not an arm of The Fashion Police. He has never arrested me or even pulled me over for walking defeated in seats. As the headline on Ms. Hunt’s piece pointed out: “Sweatpants are no longer ‘a defeat.’ Every day you get dressed is a win.” And so far, fortunately, I am still able to dress myself.

Because of the pandemic, even the Fashion World, according to Ms. Hunt, may be displaying new sensibilities. About time. “Fashion,” wrote Ms. Hunt, deputy editor of Grazia UK and an author, “has always been a way to express who we are and define how we want to be regarded in the world. What does that mean when the world has shrunk to four walls and a screen?” She went on to answer her own question, pointing out that “Valentino’s Pierpaolo Piccioli (guy sounds like a fullback), long known for his decadently voluminous dresses, showed a couture collection that was relatively pared down, including high-brow versions of beige trousers, a trench coach and a hoodie. Yes, it was an exquisitely cut, gold hoodie, but a hoodie nonetheless.”

Sounds just like my hoodies, save for the exquisite cut and the gold. Even at Paris Couture Week in February, the hoodie won the recognition it so richly deserves. (I am guessing, however, that it was not made of cotton or cotton/polyester blend that I favor.)

There is, I have discovered, an issue tangential to our restrictive pandemic lifestyles that comes closer to being “a sign of defeat” than attire: It is hygiene. It is a cousin of the tree-falling-in-the-woods question and goes like this: “If you stink at home and no one smells you, do you really stink?” OK, a little gross maybe, but I have it on my own good authority that this can be a problem in the workplace. I have faced it previously.

No, I did not stink when I wrote for the Akron Beacon Journal, though you would have little trouble finding readers who would disagree. The smelly situation occurred when I was a deputy editor and was asked by the department head to address complaints from staff members about an otherwise quite nice, if slightly odd, colleague. I was male. He was male. My job was to encourage him to overcome this problem that seemed to be associated with too little showering and perhaps the need for an extra swipe of deodorant. I was embarrassed to bring it up. In fact, I figuratively held my nose.

He had a plausible explanation when I gently informed him that his colleagues had complained. He said that before coming to the office, he often engaged in “vigorous gardening” and worked up quite a sweat. Apparently. But, since I feared gaining too much information might embarrass him as much as I was embarrassed, I did not delve into the particulars of the vigor with which he went at his pastime. He said he understood and that he would take great care not to offend again. Sweet answer.

Today, I find I often am flirting with talking to myself about the same problem. After my lengthy and crisp (for an old person) exercise walks, I am often too tired to shower immediately and put it off until the next day. Then, I wonder if I stink and cannot smell it.

The person who would know has not complained. But, I worry that she is too nice to tell me. (She says that’s true.) At least I no longer have to fear that my attire is unfashionable. The Fashion Police have met the enemy, and it is all of us.