I’m perhaps hugely conservative when it comes to politics of how women should dress their bodies. Truth be told, no man worth his salt is pretty comfortable when his lady displays her assets all out for anybody who cares to ogle at them. Take this to the bank, any man out there who walks with a lady flaunting all her skin must be wading in the sensational initial stages of dating. After sometime the same guy will drop the excitement exhibited by the popular Team Mafisi Sacco and Team Mabweha Sacco squad (Note there is a difference) at salivating over his chick. Vaunt your body in your digs but don’t parade it out there for every lad to analyse and draw imageries over his defeated mind. Some ladies would ask, how is that their problem? 1 Timothy 2:9 the Bible reads; I also want women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes, but with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God.
I remember at one time, my day job boss allocated me some task on bookkeeping for one particular restaurant. Incidentally, I came to realise save for the MD who was an intimidating, bald headed mid-forties chap, the rest of the Management including the Operations Manager, H.R.Manager, dropping down to the lower levels of Assistant Accountant, MD’s personal assistant and the receptionist were all females. I have nothing condescending to write about female employees, in any case 70% of my colleagues are females. (But not once have I agitated in the meetings that we need gender balancing, only for the H.R Manager to shoot me off saying there are hardly any employable guys in the job market.)
Back to my storo, the interesting bit is; all these females wore skirts or dresses that over exposed their thighs. Deliberately or otherwise, their wardrobes had nothing to do with anything that extended below their knees. To them, that was not bold enough and quite unfashionable indeed. The receptionist was arguably the head of this informal department that raised temperatures and raced our blood flow unnecessarily.
Truth be told, brown complexion ladies in these handkerchief-long dresses cause more traffic than the rest. (High five to all my dark skins friends, I have nothing against you. Indeed our friendship knows no colour.) You get my point. This receptionist was an Asian-like breed. With curled, long hair that often danced at her waistline. Yes it was that long. Her legs were unblemished, screaming yellow. Gai!! And a baby face that seemed to have literally jumped over the adolescence stage. Teaming up with rest of the usual suspects, you should have seen the confusion these lasses brought to poor men’s souls working in the kitchen, waiters, security guys or chaps delivering supplies or patrons checking in to book for a weekend getaway.
This reminds me of one Mr. Otieno working as a barman in that place. He was one hell of a long man. (Long in the sense of somebody who had a height that is beyond what is conventionally accepted). Big up to this guy for orienting me to the a million varieties of whiskeys and taking his time to ensure I understood the difference between a gin, scotch and a rum, while I was familiarising myself with the stock schedules. If he was to read this piece, he would attest to what I’m writing today. Of ladies who left our mouth agape and helpless.
I kept questioning Mr. Otieno (was the most friendly bloke), of how they survived with all these collection of unmasked thighs, padded by unperturbed legs in high heels longer than hills in Kisii land. I could touch the pregnant levels of distraction hovering over those quiet corridors. If only the office walls would speak! We were one bunch of cornered souls questioning why life had to be this confusing. But why would a lady have a wardrobe of micro miniskirts from January to December. Is it esteem issues or simply something to do with a personality. Like the whole idea of being drooled at by poor men could be, lifts her moods in the morning or scares away Monday blues. Mr. Otieno and I wouldn’t answer this question. The more we indulged at it, the more intriguing it became.
I know at times you get stuck in traffic and sneak your eyes to the car interiors of motorists on the parallel lanes. Many a times you count not one or two female drivers with their uncovered thighs and all their extended families all out, sitting pretty in traffic scrolling over their phones. I’m not sure whether there was a memo dispatched before I was conceived that female drivers should drive while exposing their thighs. A section of readers will raise qualms with my reasoning citing how is that my business and why I am objectifying the female gender. Point is, I have consistently been vehemently against demeaning of the female gender. However that shouldn’t be construed to allude that as a society it’s okay to encourage ladies to walk in town with thighs widely exposed in order to look cool. It doesn’t sit well with my conscious. Forgive me.
In essence females obsessed with showing lots of their skin are actually perpetuating female objectification. They encourage men to pry on them lustfully. It’s not a question of men being unable to control themselves but of ladies inviting men to the mentality that they can be sex objects, you know! Case in point; there has been a quiet discourse as to if the very beautiful Dj Pierra Makena uses her sexual appeal to advance her popularity ratings. If in doubt, visit her social media platforms. I’m also reminded of a YouTube clip of her in the gym hoping over this chap hanging on some suspended bars at his waist line, while she’s dressed in a hot pant she goes ahead to perform some very sexual exercises.
I recall one time Kageshi was upset by a rogue music video clip that happened to play on the TV screen that had chaps well-dressed but on the other hand, their female counterparts hardly covering anything. To that extent who would be accused of objectifying ladies? Why can’t video vixens dress decently? The very same ladies who lecture us on social media about how they should not be viewed as sex objects are the same that dash out on a Friday evening for a night of reveling, and in the process making it our business to familiarise with every scar on their upper leg or where their stretch marks start and fade.