I tried on a new pair of slacks the other day. They were black, and as dressy as slacks ever get, to go with a new top for an upcoming party. But when I tried to put my hand into one of the pockets — grrrr! It was sewn shut.
I can deal with this, I said to myself. Each of my boys’ Bar Mitzvah suits had come the same way, with the pockets sewn shut. I assumed it was so they couldn’t leave sticky sweets in them before the charge card had even gone through.
But I never worried because somewhere in my voluminous closet of junk, I had a sewing kit with something called a seam ripper — which worked perfectly for picking out the stitches that kept those pockets closed. I had gotten them working by the time of each boy’s big day.
And thank goodness for the dry cleaner, who got all the sticky things out of the pockets afterward. If I never see a chocolate fountain again, it will be too soon.
So this time, pleased to have a sewing problem I actually knew the answer to, I darted upstairs, found the kit and went to work.
Then I stood up, put on the slacks, and put my phone in the back left pocket — only to hear it thunk on the bedroom floor. Whatever I’d been working on wasn’t a pocket at all! It was just two borders sewn together, with no pocket in between. Hastily, I stitched it all back together in time so as not to be mooning everyone at the party.
But I was left with a stinging sense of betrayal. What good is a fake pocket? Why even bother?
I still don’t know the answer to that one, but I have learned one thing: I have a lot of company. I also have scientific proof that we women have been cheated out of decent pockets.
Not long ago, two women writing for an online magazine called “The Pudding” decided to systematically compare the sizes of men’s vs. women’s pockets, front and back, across 20 different brands of jeans. Jan Diehm and Amber Thomas factored out the difference in size between men and women by using jeans that all had a 32-inch waist.
To put it in scientific terms, the results show that women’s pockets — especially in the front —are “ridiculous.” Useless. A cruel joke. They are fit only for holding a single car key, if what you want to do is disembowel yourself the first time you bend over.
I have always envied the number of amazing pockets that men’s suits seemed to contain — especially the two or even three pockets on the inside jacket front. It is much cooler than any purse.
That’s why I was extremely excited in the 1980s, when suitmaker St. Laurie’s announced they would make the same sort of suits for women that they had always made for men (but with a skirt, of course). I ran out and got one and filled every pocket. I felt magically powerful.
Of course, there will always be a certain number of killjoys who think that pockets should be decorative, not utilitarian — along with the women who wear them.
The problem is wallets don’t carry themselves, and you still need what you need. Even when you want to be decorative. Especially then, in fact, because such an unnatural state requires constant upkeep throughout the night.
Perhaps once upon a time, a man might say with some validity, “What do you need a wallet for? We’re paying for everything!” But even the most backward among them must admit that nowadays a woman needs someplace to put her phone — if only so he can text her something stupid on it.
Indeed, this whole pockets thing is just a ploy which, along with teetery heels, constitutes a giant conspiracy to keep us off balance and dependent.
That is why I no longer expect much from pockets. What I need is a cavernous purse to hold everything — as long as it has pockets of its own, inside and out, so I can find my keys, my wallet, my Purell and my glasses, when I need them.
The “Pockets” study cited a poem titled “Dangerous Coats,” by Sharon Owens:
Someone clever once said
Women were not allowed pockets
In case they carried leaflets
To spread sedition
Which means unrest
To you & me….
So ladies, start sewing
Dangerous coats
Made of pockets & sedition
Then, truly, we would have pockets of resistance!
