The spiritual side of fashion

Among all of the sinful things I did this past weekend, Sunday morning I was awoken by a phone call reminding me that I promised to go to church. Going to church has never bothered me; in fact, I like church, a lot. I grew up Catholic and was in Catholic school for most of my life. I pretty much attended church every day. \nThough I grew up in church, this particular church outing was a bit different. My friend Michelle is Mormon, and most Mormons dress up when they go to church. As a Catholic, I'm used to going to church wearing whatever I want. It's great that you can go in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a T-shirt and call it a day. When they say "come as you are," they really mean it. So when I began to get dressed for my outing, I was baffled about what to wear. When I got my wake-up call from Michelle to go to church, the first thing I asked was, "What do I wear?" I told her I was thinking of wearing a dress, and she said "Great, a dress is really good." \nSo after about an hour of tugging on my panty hose and complaining about people dressing up to praise God, I began to wonder if dressing up is contradictory to the point of church. I finally put on a black dress and pair of black patent leather slingbacks. My boyfriend also looked quite handsome in a blue blazer over a button down with a pair of flat front khakis. We were ready to go to church.\nI knew it was going to be an interesting experience when my boyfriend and I got into the car, turned it on and Mobb Deep was blaring from the stereo. I thought to myself: "I am on my way to church listening to Mobb Deep; great! I can't even take the narrow path to church. A big hole is going to swallow me up as soon as I get there."\nWhen we arrived, Michelle was waiting for us. I was so happy to see her, and couldn't wait to see her new baby. I should have known something was wrong when she told me how good I looked. As we waited for the opening prayer to end (I arrived late, of course), I stood there wondering what was in store. Finally the opening prayer was over and we walked into the sanctuary. The phrase "wear a dress" took on a whole new meaning. When I had pinned the top of my dress together because it showed a little too much cleavage, it should of been a signal for me to change, but I thought the pin was sufficient. Well, it wasn't. \nI walked in thinking I was the epitome of modesty, but compared to everyone else, I looked like a high-priced whore. I felt so bad. All the women were wearing very modest, long dresses with flowers on them and not one bit of skin showing. "I am going to hell," I thought. "That's it, it's over for me."\nThe Catholic guilt began to take over, and I started to wonder if I had been away from church for too long. Last time I was at home, I went into St. Bart's to pray. I was wearing a black camisole top with white lace trim. When I walked in, one of the old ladies looked at me like I was crazy. When I realized what it was because of my revealing top, I quickly put on the cardigan I was carrying with me. I had blown the incident off, attributing it to my spontaneous need for prayer. Now I had to face it, I was among a group of people feeling like the strange woman men are warned to stay away from in the book of Proverbs.\nBy the time church was over, I had forgotten about my fashion mishap. As I was leaving the church, I began to think about the sermon on choices and taking responsibility for the choices we make. It made sense and actually changed me a little. As I got into the car, I thought to myself that next time I will choose to dress more modestly and wear something that covers my breasts.