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צילום: איי פי
Nothing wrong with modesty
No one loves a short skirt more than me. But many Israelis need taste lessons
Several years ago I found myself hospitalized following a serious car accident. My foot was elevated in a sling, and I couldn't get out of bed for many long months.
The doctor said I needed a skin graft on my foot, and told me they'd have to take the graft from my thigh. "Will it leave a scar?" I asked.
"Probably," he answered solemnly, and I rejected the proposal out-of-hand. He thought for a minute, and suggested the graft could be done from my behind, but I would run the risk of pressure wounds from extended periods of lying down.
I breathed easy once again: Pressure wounds are nothing compared to the thought of never wearing a miniskirt again (I've got one I particularly love. It's worn and faded now, but it still maintains a place of honor in my closet).
Window shopping
Many years have passed since then, and many things have changed. Several weeks ago, I was window shopping on Dizengoff Street when my eyes were drawn to a fashion ad, as they often are. And as is often the case in such ads, the model was almost naked, save for a few bare strips of material.
All of a sudden, her body looked boring to me, worn out and definitely not sexy. I'd even say she looked pathetic. Her beautiful breasts just made me yawn.
Women have lost much of their excitement potential by exposing themselves too much. Just like violence fails to stir us anymore because we've seen so much of it, in every conceivable way, shape and form on TV, exposed backsides are just not that exciting anymore.
And so we set off looking for the next thing, the next daring limit with the ability to excite dull people we've become.
Protecting femininity
More than that, and this is my own personal taste, it just isn't nice. Even in Europe it's hot sometimes, but women don't walk around with half their chests showing and the barest of half-shirts. They are more elegant, have more respect for both themselves and their femininity.
There is something about exposed private parts that fails to leave a place for intimacy. Let us look vulgar, unremarkable, un-sexy.
Or, rather, it is sexy, in the sense that it turns on guys on the street. But not in a "What a mysterious, sensual woman. I'd love to make love to her," sort of way. It's more like: "Grrr, look at her. I know what I'd do to HER, let me tell you, ha ha ha."
Suffocating themselves
To say nothing of heavy-set girls who wear too-revealing shirts. This is truly frightening! I like full-figured girls, but why must they walk around in clothes that look like they are suffocating? As if they are distorting themselves and trying to be someone they aren't.
Let them wear something their own size (I know how hard it is for them to find something, but still), something that will look like are proud to be the women they are, with the body life decreed for them. And what about the potbellies spilling over way-too-tight jeans?
Seems to me there is an element of rebellion in such minimalist dress, but there is nothing to rebel against. Everything's been worn, everything's been done, so in order to draw attention so that a maximize the number of male heads that turn to look at us on the street, the only thing left is to take off a centimeter here or there. And that's for girls as young as 10. Where will it all end?
Growing up
Today, at the age of 30, it's not so appropriate to wear those revealing clothes. Not because of the way I'm built, but rather because of the way I see myself.
There are still mornings those same skirts and dresses shout out "wear me," and I don't try to silence them. I'm happy to wear them (despite the fact that I'm usually sick of it after an hour and sorry I didn't wear something that would allow me to bend down freely).
And still, the streets are covered with beauties who dress this way all the time, and the thought that my husband could turn around and look at one – despite the fact that I know I'm his wife, and that he thinks I'm beautiful – could bother me in a moment of weakness.
Down at the beach
Two days ago I went to the beach, to sit on the sand (not to get tan, of course). Next to me were two gorgeous teenagers in bathing suits taking digital pictures of one another.
It was a rare sight: Two girls, neither of whom was a model, "striking poses" on a crowded Tel Aviv beach, as if they were veteran models.
I couldn't help watching them. The model in me woke up and I thought about asking them if they wanted some tips.
But before I made up my mind they'd run up on the promenade. I tried to think what, exactly, they were missing there – they copied poses from professional journals that wouldn't have embarrassed a professional model, but they lost the point, the glance, the expression.
A bent finger that takes away any feeling, any revealed standing of harm, or gentleness.
And, still, I admit: There is something inspiring about the sight of young women (and even, occasionally, young men) walking around in colorful clothing, roaming the streets happily and provocatively.
As long as its done in good taste.
Ma'ayan Karet is a model and lecturers on eating disorders
