Recently we shared an article featuring a snap taken of two women in a Tesco supermarket… in their (shock horror!) pyjamas. And all hell let loose. Sure, some of our readers – as well as our own ever immaculately turned out Duchess – were utterly horrified that anybody would contemplate leaving their abode dressed in gowns, onesies and slippers. But just as equally, the other half were utterly horrified that anybody should have a problem with that.
A rather public debate ensued.
And, if I’m honest, my initial reaction was to laugh. Mainly because, I not only grew up in Glastonbury, but I also had the pleasure of working in a supermarket there at weekends.
Let me assure you general public, pyjamas are both well-dressed AND conventional – by this on-the-surface-of-it unassuming Somerset town’s standards, anyway.
When it comes to questionable attire in a supermarket, I have quite literally seen it all:
- Goddesses skipping the aisles linking arms, in a tumble of Medusa-like curls – tick
- Wizards in gowns waving their “magic” wands – tick
- Eerily spooky witches on brooms (outside of Halloween) – tick
- Knights in not-so-shining-armour – tick
- Purple mohicans with spikes so sharp and long they could poke your eyes out – tick
- Ladies in the minutest of bikini tops (who then had to be escorted off the premises for baring “too much flesh”) – tick
- Wellington boots, denim hot pants, angora fleece mini waistcoat, chest hair spilling everywhere, twenty medallions, dreadlocks covered in mud, topped off with a pair of over-sized Dolce and Gabbana sunnies – oh, and a flourescent pink 80s Jelly Bean Bag (remember them?) – tick
- A “gent” sporting a goldfish bowl over his head – tick
- Two elderly gents in a pizza discus competition to get to my till first… which resulted in a punch up.
But that’s a whole other article.
So… why do we get so easily offended?
Now, at this point, I am going to let our very own resident, The Duchess, off the hook. Those who regularly follow our Glass House musings know very well that she was brought up in a military household. So, I get that ingrained and trained take on all things appearance, I really do.
But the rest of us?
Why are we judging?
Variety is the spice of life, after all.
Are we simply deflecting…? Is it easier to find fault in somebody else’s appearance so that we overlook our personal hang ups with our own?
Hmm… I may have just hit the nail on the head.
I am far from “innocent” when it comes to making snap judgments.
Everyone who knows me, knows I loathe tattoos with a passion. (In my very casual defence, I think this is mostly because I “worry” on behalf of those who have embossed themselves with “I love Dwayne forever“… particularly at the tender age of 18… when the likelihood is they are going to go on to have at least three other lovers.)
But a dressing gown?
An innocent dressing gown?
What’s to get so stressed about?
Even if it is a Primark special.
Many were those who pointed out that these ladies, leisurely (or hurriedly) browsing the aisles of Tesco, could have been dressed this way for any number of reasons. And that really chimes with me. Sometimes we can be way too quick to jump to the wrong conclusions:
- Maybe they were in a hurry?
- Maybe their alarm clocks broke?
- Maybe they were recovering from surgery… and found this the most comfortable thing to wear?
- Maybe they were challenging society… seeing who would rise to the bait?
- Maybe they were grieving?
- Maybe they were knee-deep in depression?
- Maybe they were just plain lazy?
Does it really matter? In the great scheme of things?
Do we have the right, just because we live in this social media age, to go around snapping innocent shoppers from behind whilst they are plonking cans of beans/organic peppermint tea/Tesco’s Finest cheesecake into their baskets… and then share this image with the world?
How would we feel if we found the rear view of ourselves featured in an online article, calling out our “poor” choice of dress?
Pretty wretched, I should think.
What happened to live and let live?
What happened to having an imagination; an open mind which, if it feels the need to dissect the lives of others based on their appearance, at least comes up with a number of plausible possibilities?
As my parents used to say to my gawping five year old self: “Stop staring, it’s rude!”
Since when did the real world become an episode of Big Brother?