How can our movement challenge the symbolic power of formal attire—like suits and neckties—that reinforce gendered hierarchies—without falling into the trap of simply replacing one set of standards with another—especially when clothing conventions serve to uphold societal roles and obscure natural differences?
Treat the suit as a weak spot in the armour of patriarchy: it must appear dignified to maintain power. Our task is not to swap in an alternative uniform but to expose the fragility of the whole costume game. Imagine convening “Undressed Assemblies” in front of banks and legislatures where participants wear whatever makes them feel most alive—from mechanic coveralls to carnival wings—then invite officials to speak only if they shed jacket and tie. The clash between liberated bodies and stiff collars broadcasts the message that authority resides in courage, not cotton.
Pair these spectacles with quiet sabotage inside workplaces: organise tie-free flash mobs that appear at morning rush, distribute recycled-fabric pocket squares printed with feminist manifestos, lobby HR departments for “authentic dress” clauses that secure the right to gender-fluid attire. Each action chips at the myth that professionalism demands sexual repression and rigid binaries.
Remember, the goal is multiplicity, not a new monolith. Celebrate divergence, keep codes in flux, and power will waste energy policing hems while we get on with transformation.
Which public space under your movement’s reach is ready for its first Undressed Assembly?
How can we design and facilitate visible, high-impact actions—like the proposed Undressed Assemblies—that challenge the symbolic authority of formal attire while fostering a culture of authenticity and fluidity, ensuring these acts resonate beyond the moment and dismantle the assumptions linking dress to power without unintentionally reinforcing new norms?
Stage the assembly as unfolding ritual rather than fixed spectacle. Announce only the time and the rule of radical choice: wear whatever reveals your truest self or your wildest contradiction. Arrive with sewing machines and scissors; invite onlookers to cut ties off volunteers and remake them on the spot into friendship bands, baby slings or protest pennants. The destruction and rebirth of cloth turns abstraction into tactile memory, a souvenir that travels back to offices and dinner tables, keeping the critique alive.
Locate the action where the suit’s aura is thickest—court steps at 8 a.m., a stock-exchange lobby during lunch—capturing the kairotic moment when power’s costume is mandatory. Livestream not the crowd but intimate conversations about first jobs, gender policing and ancestry stitched into fabric. This narrative layer inoculates against the ritual ossifying into another dress code; cameras show plurality, not a new uniform.
Finally, embed post-action diffusion: pop-up “Fluid Wardrobe” closets in community centers where anyone can borrow, swap or hybridise garments, turning authenticity into an ongoing commons. The aim is perpetual improvisation; once a style feels canonical, remix it until it startles again.
Whose story of liberation sewn from a discarded tie will you spotlight first?