You Can’t Sit With Us

On Wednesdays, we wear....whatever we want, because fashion is genderless...right? 👚

The other day I found myself in yet another conversation, tip-toeing on eggshells with an individual over 50. She had just hit me with, “Well, how can anyone tell anymore by the way they’re dressed these days, amiright?”. And I’m pretty sure she caught my pregnant pause behind it.

We had been loosely discussing the matter of gender and expression when she found herself entangled in a “what are you?” conundrum. Honestly, it wasn't that she said the cringe thing, I had mentally prepared for the possibility that a like comment might slide in, and I was ready to attribute it to the generational gap. What got me, was truly the question itself. Were clothes meant to expose gender? The thought began to roll into questions about the true nature of modern fashion, particularly in the 21st century.  

We’ve taken an astounding leap in the last 10 years from a society that once painfully adhered to a gender binary, to ripping the lid off Pandora's box and letting the spectrum run free. The blossoming of everything from international language surrounding pronouns, to apparel, has begun to mold the vision of an inclusive future. So, this question, how can you tell [gender]? really began to focus my mind on how important clothing has been in sculpting this future forward conversation. 

To say first impressions mean everything is a gross generalization in theory, and yet, strikingly true in practice. Arguably, the first wave of consecrated opinions we make off someone comes from the way they’re garbed. Our brains, ever wired to the binary, make lightning fast decisions on whether we believe someone to fit into X or Y category; it applies to everything from gender to deciding if we think that person is dweeby or cool. We can’t help it- drawing instant conclusions is the trigger of primal instinct set to react appropriately to perceived threats in the wild. It highlights this underlying pulse of fearing the unknown and widens the gap between those who believe there are assigned roles, and those who know the limit does not exist. 

Before the absolute domination of streetwear in fashion, it felt like there was hardly a space for cis men in fashion outside of business casual and normcore. Their sections in the thrift store always reflect how little option they are given; plaid button up this, khaki slack that, what a thrill -_- Women are expected to find something in the bodycon realm, you know, the kind of stuff that attracts eligible men, because we were all expected to stay on our respective sides of the duple. But enter a generational uprising, and now the need to express genuinely and uniquely is amplified ten fold. Style genres like athleisure, workwear ensembles, and all things “core” answered that call with fervor.

This idea of being able to “tell” what or even who a person is by their attire is actually kind of laughable. Think about it: someone thinks they know who you are and what you like because you put a few scraps of fabric on your body, and furthermore, they’ve assigned connotations to those scraps depending on if they’re lace, vinyl, or silk. Othering feels safer than stepping into the obscure because it places an individual in “like” categories, where their values, lifestyles and orientations are assumed to be shared by their surrounding cohort; all this really does is create a dichotomy of resistance vs progression. 

The point of fashion (outside of strict uniform) is expression. Choosing how you are perceived, or not, is a very systematic and intimate choice on behalf of the wearer, who innately knows that their creative direction will communicate unspoken insights about their character. When observing a person in passing the question shouldn't actually be about what someone is based on the drape, rather why they’ve opted for the given aesthetic. Ostensibly, it would be dismissive to write off any fit as a means of merely determining gender; this crux forms the very foundation on which the unisex fashion movement thrives.

As we enter the 2030’s and beyond, the intersectionality of identity and regalia will continue to overlap, beautifully bleeding into one another and forcefully chipping away at antiquated perspectives. Replacing the current repertoire with one of receptivity will be yet another bane of human existence, but it's a challenge worth accepting as a society whose never ending journey is one of inevitable change. Disregarding threads as merely that, while also allowing for their presence and presentation to impart the desired elements, is a juxtaposition that requires nothing more than an open mind to understand. Will clothing solve the culture? No - just like it won’t tell you what's between a person's legs or who they’re trying to invite between them, if anyone at all. The only person whose business it is to care about the clothing is the creator themselves, and trust me, none of their paychecks are asking if they can “tell”.

For the love of kitchen brawls

Here’s the scene: good guy chasing bad guy through the gritty green lit streets of some Gotham adjacent city, glocks blazing, and innocent randos being subject to classic side shoves in the name of justice or vendetta. Our perp hops a few roofs, slides a couple fire escapes, and bounces off an industrial trash can to run through a grimey back alley door. We follow our champion as he effortlessly jumps to the ground landing in superhero stance and snapping the dust off his jacket; a single cook who witnessed the chaos makes eye contact briefly before pulling hard on his cigarette and pointing at the door. We all enter the kitchen.

The Raid 2 (2014)

Whether in real life or on screen, there's something emotionally elevated about scenes that take place in a kitchen. A fight, a good lay, it all feels inextricably heightened in the presence of knives and fire because it’s such a universally understood space. It’s where the food comes out, it’s where the magic behind a Michelin star is made, and it’s where (thanks to The Bear) we know some of the most intimate and epic arguments occur. Onscreen, kitchens are one of the few spaces that almost immediately become more than a setting, instead taking on a character, and makes viewers question why the story choice is to set it there; ultimately it invokes an element of uncertainty as a familiar space becomes uncertain. Now the gunmen have knives; now the make out is forbidden as fresh ass hits dirty cutting board; you never know who's skilled with a mandolin in the moment.  Innately, I think, there is something deeply subconscious that is acutely aware of the presence of so many “living” things, commingling with objects that can easily and quickly change that state of being. 

A Wusthof set proudly displayed on the kitchen island with heavy coppers creating a chandelier just above the trophy cutlery- it's what steamy romance novels fantasies and murderous horror nightmares are made of. The setting elicits a certain improvisation from both the situation and characters as things can fall, shatter, slice and stab almost ten fold.  These kinds of high stakes scenes rank amongst my favorite for their potent ability to shift plot and dynamics. Here are five examples that perfectly exemplify the rollercoaster of emotion a kitchen induces:

Monkey Man ( 2024)

This scene is everything you want in a kitchen fight: shaky, erratic camera tracking, spontaneous usage of surrounding weaponry, and of course propane. It misses no marks and strikes all the delicious tropes of a vengeful underdog's hero story.

Kill Bill (2003)

We meet our wrath ridden heroine in her first get-back fight. The setting is an intimate home kitchen in a white picket neighborhood where an unsuspecting mother is awaiting her daughters arrival home. It's the first real taste of our champion's might, which ultimately carried the Tarantino franchise into the cinematic hall of fame.

The Bear ( Szn 1, Ep 7)

Arguably one of the most viscerally reactive scenes an former line cook could torture themselves with, The Bear has opened up the BTS traumas of modern commercial eateries for the whole world to see. Here is the exposed underbelly of what it is to be a cook- forever attempting the fatal balancing act of delicate pastries, brutal directives, ever surmounting responsibilities and less we forget - time.

Goodfellas (1990)

Cinema at it's peak with storytelling as these mafiosos transform their makeshift prison kitchen into a multi dimensional space that manages to be nostalgic, foreshadowing, and present all at once. The elders muse while preparing a meal with sacred techniques from the clink, fresh slabs of meat and gastronomic treasures smuggled in from the other side of the bars.

The Menu (2022)

Horror is a kitchen's main squeeze genre - it is where knives thrive! For so many reason's The Menu became a quick favorite in the rolodex of gastro cinema. This films ability to both make fun of and make art from the surreality of current culinary culture and its expectations, makes it easily digestible, even to those who think "it's just a burger!"