Let’s dive right into a pressing question: Are leggings considered pants or tights? It’s a philosophical debate that many have pondered.
Recently, I dropped my daughter off at her new middle school. As a sixth-grader, she’s at the bottom of the middle school social ladder, navigating locker combinations, class schedules, and a myriad of rules. I often forget how challenging this transition can be. My own memories of middle school are filled with rebellion: my first party, my first crush, and discovering new music that shaped my identity.
My daughter is a sweet, shy, and creative spirit who prefers basketball shorts and T-shirts featuring her favorite movies. She’s not one to seek the spotlight, and while I sometimes worry about her lack of rebellion, she has always kept a low profile. I’ve worked hard to be the body-positive role model for her that I didn’t have growing up, and I believe I’ve succeeded, at least up until now.
Just a mile from the school, my phone rings. It’s her, and she’s in tears. “Mom, I need you to bring me different clothes. Bring me jeans.” I don’t even get a chance to ask why.
I rush back to the school with jeans in a plastic bag, along with a few pads discreetly tucked in a makeup bag, just in case. I sense something troubling has happened, and she’s clearly embarrassed. If this is about her period — which explains the need for new clothes — I’m determined to keep things light and help her view being a girl as something positive.
She’s waiting in the office when I arrive, and I hand her the bag. We step into the hallway, where I pull her close and mention the pads I brought, just in case. She quickly heads to the bathroom and asks me to wait.
I sit in the front office, and the secretary remarks, “How embarrassing.”
“I’m not exactly sure what happened. She’ll tell me when she comes out,” I reply.
“Oh, it was her shorts. They were too short,” she says.
This catches me off guard. Apparently, an eighth-grade teacher had sent my daughter to the principal’s office. I’m simmering with anger, yet I remain silent. As a body-positive feminist, I’m mentally shaking my fist at the absurdity of policing girls’ bodies under the guise of a “dress code,” which I see as nothing more than a “slut indicator.”
“I think they’re being a little ridiculous,” the secretary agrees. “If they have all these rules, why not just have uniforms?”
While I understand her frustration — she has a daughter too — I can’t help but think that’s not really the solution. Then she surprises me with more news: leggings are also not allowed.
“That’s not in the handbook,” I assert, “because I read it carefully.”
I don’t mention that I sometimes read things just to fuel my outrage. I also know my daughter’s shorts were well within the dress code, falling below her fingertips. Anything shorter seems to push the limits of what’s acceptable according to their arbitrary standards.
“Well, it’s a rule. No leggings unless a girl wears a dress or shorts over them. They’re considered tights,” she explains.
I contemplate asking for a withdrawal form. This school, just three days in, is already too much to handle. I remind myself that the secretary is just the messenger, but I struggle to wrap my head around the idea that leggings aren’t considered pants. I passionately explain to her that leggings serve as a body equalizer; they fit girls of all shapes and sizes. They also offer a socioeconomic advantage, allowing all girls to feel included regardless of their family’s financial situation.
She doesn’t respond.
What could she say? For many girls, middle school becomes an introduction to the notion that their bodies are no longer their own. They learn that their worth is often measured by how others perceive them, especially boys. The responsibility for how they are treated shifts to the girls themselves. While boys face their own challenges — such as societal pressures to suppress emotions — dress codes primarily convey a clear message to girls: Your body makes us uncomfortable.
This isn’t a new realization for many, but for the girls experiencing it firsthand, it’s infuriating. My daughter, in particular, is being taught to evaluate her self-worth based on the opinions of teachers and peers rather than her own self-image. On that day, it didn’t matter that she felt great in her denim shorts; what mattered was that she broke an arbitrary rule, which educators prioritized over teaching her valuable lessons in math and language arts. Perhaps this experience is her first lesson in rebellion, after all.
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In summary, dress codes in schools often send troubling messages to girls, reinforcing the idea that their bodies are to be scrutinized and controlled. Instead of empowering our daughters, these rules can lead to feelings of shame and discomfort over their natural selves, prompting an urgent need for change in how we address these issues.