I’m working as a teaching artist at a high school this fall, costuming a production of “The Women.” I’m spending my evenings and weekends putting together 1930s ensembles for 25 adolescent girls. Roughly half of them are a size zero. It’s alarming. Their skirts look like they were made for Cabbage Patch dolls. I said so. None of them knew what a Cabbage Patch doll was.
If you’re a large adult male who loves having to defend your actions to complete strangers, I suggest spending your free time browsing the Girls section at various discount clothing stores. You will be provided with the opportunity to explain yourself repeatedly, while holding tiny little blouses in your fumbling hands. Your explanation about a high school play may be greeted with an arched eyebrow if you, like me, do not look like the sort of person who would ever be allowed any responsibility of any kind, especially around minors.
In my case, it isn’t because I look dangerous. It’s because I look mildly befuddled at all times, and tend to get shaky when challenged. I’m the sort of person you’d think twice before handing something fragile, like a vase, or a soufflé, or a child’s education.