It’s surprising that in 2017 there are still places in Washington where the powers-that-be feel it’s wise and worthwhile to play fashion police. But up on Capitol Hill, the fashion savants in the House still deem sleeveless dresses, sneakers and open-toe shoes verboten.
A recent story from CBS News has a reporter explaining that she was stopped from entering the Speaker’s Lobby, where journalists often buttonhole members of Congress for interviews, because her shoulders were bare. Men are not exempt from the fashion watchdogs, either. They are expected to wear jackets and ties.
The policy is nothing new, according to some Hill veterans, though enforcement has sometimes been inconsistent. These traditions apply to lawmakers and their staff, as well as journalists — but apparently not to first ladies or first daughters.
These fashion requirements, enforced by security guards, are specific enough that they stir rumblings of sexism but vague enough that they cannot possibly account for the myriad permutations of modern fashion. After all, there’s a significant difference in tone between a tailored sheath worn with peep-toe pumps and a sundress paired with gladiator sandals. And what, for example, makes a sneaker a sneaker? Is it the rubber sole, the laces, a Swoosh, the Air Max technology? The modern “sneaker” comes in everything from gold metallic leather to gray wool tweed. Some have wedge heels. Some slide on. Plenty of them look a heck of a lot better than a pair of salt-stained leather loafers that could use a cobbler’s attention — shoes that would not be forbidden in the House but probably ought to be if you care about aesthetics.
The crux of the House fashion rules, however, is not really about naked shoulders or tie-less men in shirtsleeves. A statement from House Speaker Paul D. Ryan (R-Wis.) decrees that “members should wear appropriate business attire during all sittings of the House, however brief their appearance on the floor may be.” The goal is to show “mutual and institutional respect.” (Ah respect! So elusive these days.)
But what exactly is appropriate? Fifty years, 30 years, 15 years ago, most folks could probably agree on the definition of “appropriate.” There were actual sections in department stores called “career dressing.” People bought “work clothes” and changed out of them when they got home at the end of the day. In the age before leggings as pants, flip-flips as shoes and backpacks as an acceptable professional carry-all, everyone was on the same page sartorially. Mostly.