NO DRESS, MY CHOICE
Tall dark and handsome awes the more in an exquisite three piece designer suit, a neat bowtie and some well polished shoes. On his right arm, walking together down the red carpet, is a woman, his woman! In a hugging dress, well figure flattering. A cleavage deep enough to suggestively expose her beautiful bust, a bare back to flaunt her shoulder blades and a slit all the way up her maxi to finesse her sexy legs with thicc enough thighs and killer calves more defined with the six inch heels. They proceed to the VIP seats eagerly waiting for the awarding event to begin.
Imagine how the grammies and BET awards are colorful, spectacular and just perfect for the evening but while at it, hold that thought for a few. Let’s go back to the admirable couple, just off their limousine, slowly walking down the ‘aisle’. More specifically to the woman, his woman and her outfit, that designer dress.
In the wake of crazy designer pieces and the classy matching up to the speedy trends, I tend to think that decency has lost its meaning. Especially when it comes to the female gender, the sensitive gender.
Our eyes are getting more comfortable with a slit slightly higher, a cleavage slightly deeper, a mini slightly shorter and a bare back slightly lower. Our bodies are getting used to a shoulder slightly more off and tops slightly more cropped. Just a little more skin exposed, a little more curves flaunted. Funny how when slightly more skin means no clothes, we are all up in arms rebuking.
With the new age of redefining, morality has gotten itself a new meaning –choice. And maybe has decency. A while back we all sang to the tunes of my dress my choice, didn’t we? Well, it has taken a while for us to see the impact of enjoying such beats. Suddenly our eyes are open to the true meaning of it. No dress, my choice.
The value of a woman lies a couple of layers beneath her skin. Sad how seeking approval has made the woman lose sight of that fact. Going crazy for slightly more likes from strangers to a point of losing herself in the hunt. An endless hunt for approval from people seated on the other end of the keyboard, a click of a button away to your gratification.
Honestly, I think it has gotten out of hand. Ilikuwa ifike kwa wazazi, now that it seems that the ball will forever be on our court, do we just say our hands are tied? What’s the invisible line to keep off in matters decency and dress code?
