Does anyone notice that women’s pockets are shrinking, almost disappearing?
Used to be that the expression: “put your hands in your pockets” had meaning for both genders. Both boys and girls could find soft comfort, refuge, in that extra layer of cloth nestled between skin and outer fabric.
I did when I was young. Putting my hands in my pockets and suddenly everything was better. The depth and warmth of the pocket provided security; a place to snuggle cold hands on a frosty day. A place to put shy hands, hands that could not express inner feelings, because my mouth could not express inner feelings.
I had no tools for cogent expression. So hands were able to hide, become invisible, because I was invisible.
Later it became a place to put my hands while striding the world in confidence. A part of my learned toughness. I could walk down Manhattan streets humming or singing, hands in pockets, happy to feel the cement under my feet, see the sky and feel the rush of air as I hurried along, sure of my mission.
And they held things. The found bottle cap just right for putting black top sidewalk tar into for that later game of Skeelzies. The piece of string which for sure will come in handy…sometime. The coins to buy penny pretzels and Italian lemon ices. My pink Spalding ball for our game of stick ball. And, after a near rape, my rabbit’s foot and small pocket knife. That little knife gave me strength. I knew I’d be able to fend off the blue suited man white penis outside who came at me and were it not for my eight year old legs warp speed climbing six flights of stairs would have had his way.
Today pockets are either non-existent or have shrunk to such size that barely fingers can explore their contents. A full hand, even to above the wrist, no longer fully fits. It is women’s pockets which have suddenly become too dainty for use. For comfort. For practicality. Men’s pockets are deep and many.
I keep a half score of the “old fashioned” pants, those without stretch fabric, with narrow waist, pleats below the belt loops, full hips and narrow bottoms. And with deep, wrist high, pockets. I keep these out of fashion wonders to wear while kicking around my house. Can’t be caught dead in the “real” world in a pair.
In truth, I keep them to remind me of REAL pockets. And how wonderful it feels to thrust my hand into that layer of fabric between my skin and the world.