As previously noted, my ‘can do’ attitude has been lack-lustre of late; seasonal discord, pity party, sciatica – take your pick but none of these present the rufty tufty personae my inner child yearns to promote. Thankfully yet again the wisdom of the ‘Youth’ nudges me to reframe my rigid thinking.
I am out on break-time duty (wearing two coats beneath my obligatory hi viz because it is so flipping cold on the field) when I try ‘ushing ‘ on a group of Year 11 students to get to lessons so that I can return to the warmth of my office. ‘Lads, the bell has gone…and you all need to pull up your trousers.’ They boys are charming and start moving slowly off in the right direction as one of them notes, ‘but if you ain’t sagging, you ain’t swagging Miss.’
My chuckle returns.
I go back to my office to consult my good friend AI just to ensure that I have not been caught on CCTV laughing at an inappropriate comment. To be honest this riposte comes as a welcome change from the, ‘you shouldn’t be looking, Miss,’ when you remind boys that you really do not want to comment on their ‘look’, but their trousers are so far down their backside that it is hard to ignore their Calvin Kleins or their uncomfortable penguin-like waddle.
Amplified Intelligence tells me that the boys’ rhyming slang links hip-hop to street wear fashion and that its core meaning is the claim that you lack ‘swag’ (coolness, confidence or style) unless you wear your pants low. AI tells me that the boys will be well aware of the original link to the US prison system, but that the look is now a signal of street cred.
Out sciatically running (an oxymoron but I am officially ‘allowed’ to don trainers again) I have time to consider whether I have something to learn here. Perhaps I have been holding it all together, or certainly trying to hold it all in, and I need to swag a little. I start considering they physical implications of this:
- Laughter lines and jowls
I have been too timid to date to embrace botox or tweakment (evidenced in the accompanying photo) and perhaps I have been right to hold off. Perhaps I should continue to let my skin droop and just let it testify to the years I have happily notched up. (In the meantime I am hypocrite enough to keep trowelling on the slap and to work my way through my bathroom cabinet of snake-oil skin savers). - Shape Wear
Again, perhaps the message here is to let my body ‘hang a little’, to let it drift southwards if it so wishes. Spandex and Wonderbra are no friend to relaxed musculature and perhaps I would be more chill if I stopped ‘pulling it all in’. Perhaps holding myself so tightly has been the cause of my sciatica….my rigid nerves have forgotten how to swag and are now pulling my flesh in so tightly that I have more chance of mimicking a penguin in flight than I do of tapping through a ‘Happy Feet’ dance routine. I need to discuss this with my Chiro. I think he will be impressed with my bioskeletal insight. - Bingo wings
Perhaps I can now just use my bingo wings to fly – let these flap about rather than hide them beneath long sleeves? In the animal kingdom flappy skin is often highly useful – I give you elephant ears used as as a coollant and a fly swat. Indeed, elephant skin is especially loose around large muscle groups to ensure that they can ease into movement without tearing anything important; if I need to wave an ambulance down, my bingo wings – or reverse biceps – need to glide into action smoothly and an increased surface area could draw attention to myself in a more effective way then impressive pecs.
As I ease myself in to the next life stage I may need to give myself permission to sag and swag more obviously. This in itself may not come naturally because I have no family history of ‘letting go’; I will need to bust the elastic on my legacy gene pool. Although no longer with us I can hear my mother’s voice opining, ‘oh dear, she has really let herself go,’ if I ditch the lycra. Mum was horrified by post-covid attire and thought a duvet coat or tent dress to be the work of the devil. As she was a nifty seamstress perhaps I could have impressed my mother with my initial additional research on the topic of sagginess which shows that throughout history, extreme sagginess and excess fabric were often used as a status symbol – letting fabric droop, drag or balloon was the ultimate flex. I have a feeling that it would not have taken Mum long to counter argue that in Medieval and Renaissance times Sumptuary Laws (personal spending or extravagance) strictly regulated the width, length and stuffing of clothing to stop the lower classes from dressing above their social rank. In addition knowing that my father would not even eat his breakfast without wearing a jacket and tie, I fear that I may have inherited a stiff and starchy attitude towards sag, and as a Methodist local preacher, I fear ‘swag’ would have prompted my father to write a sermon on the importance of modesty.
Before I next write I intend to work gently to relieve some pressure on my tautness. I will let go of some rigidity and routine if I can. I am planning a slow puncture on my bike tyres to prevent further cycling; a reorganisation of my knicker drawer to promote the wearing of old pants that have lost their elasticity and I am going to ignore our old mattress that ‘needs’ replacing. I hereby refuse to let ‘too much give’ be a mountain on which I will surrender. I am going to loosen some waistbands, stop wearing belts and I may even need to reconsider my addiction to lycra. If I can provide before and after photos I will. I intend to swagger my way into my next chiropractor appointment tomorrow and see if the Doc notices my new sag.
In the meantime I am back on break duty tomorrow and already wondering how the line, ‘if you ain’t sagging you ain’t swagging,’ will go down with a group of Year 10 girls who insist on wearing tight PE legging with bespoke butt enhancers. I could just let it go…or I could use this as an educational opportunity to explain the meaning of the word ‘sumptuary’?