Student journalist Natalie Rowthorn, in a recent op-ed to the Indiana Daily Student titled “The era of the legging must end,” expresses strong opinions about one particularly controversial article of clothing that goes by many names: yoga pants, tights, or leggings. Leggings, as Rowthorn identifies them, are too convenient due to their ease of outfit planning and all around comfortable fit. In a description of her typical morning dress routines, she writes, employing a flurry of dashes, that

I rummage through my drawers and yank out the first semi-clean shirt I can find and grab my favorite pair of black leggings off the floor next to my over-worn flip-flops. Boots if it’s fall. 

Rowthorn’s complicity as a frequent wearer of leggings segues into abrupt critique:

This is the outfit of disaster, people. Or, should I say, ladies. Maybe I’m being a little dramatic but it seems that the young women of America love wearing their leggings a little too much.

But what is the source of Rowthorn’s criticism? Why–given leggings’ convenience and practicality–does she oppose them? Rowthorn’s sartorial critique stems from a recent study abroad trip in which the student was exposed to high French culture and fashion. Leggings, Rowthorn discovered, are not a universal phenomenon:

This is an American problem. While spending this summer abroad in the south of France, I did not spot a single French man, woman, or canine sporting a pair of leggings–not a single being (besides my fellow Americans, of course). . . .  I made this shocking realization. I was the slobby one. While sporting a pair of leggings, I made my way around, slowly realizing that not only was I a foreigner, I was an outcast, a fashion abomination. 

French style assulted Rowthorn in all of her slobbiness as she meandered around fashion current Parisian streets. Back in the hotel room, thoroughly embarrassed, Rowthorn rights her ways and swaps inappropriate and super-casual leggings for something more fashion worthy: a floral print sundress. The style convert now finishes her tirade against American and particularly college sartorial sense:

I’ll say it bluntly. America, we look like slobs. Sure, we’re practically dressed for class [when donning leggings]. But when we finally graduate college and enter the real world, one without red solo cups and tailgates, we must also relinquish our leggings.

She balances out her critique with a final disclaimer, however, in which she redeems the use of leggings in limited circumstances and contexts:

I’m not saying all college women should trash their leggings and never wear them ever again. I’m just saying we should re-evaluate the occasions for which they are appropriate. Save leggings for that dreadful 8 a.m. discussion class on Fridays, not dinner with the parents. 

Let’s put Rowthorn’s op-ed to the side, momentarily, to consider another critique of the leggings phenomenon. Evangelical writer Phylicia Duran, who blogs at Phylicia Delta: Approaching God’s Grace in Red High Heels and writes on issues of fashion, faith, and modesty, sees her work as helping to instruct Christian women. In one post, titled “That Day I Wore Yoga Pants,” Duran denounces the pants. Like Rowthorn, Duran describes the appeal of the article of clothing’s sheer functionality or practicality as she prepared to head to they gym:

Hurriedly I raked through my second dresser drawer in the dim light of the unlit closet, scrambling for pants of some kind. Finding some, I grabbed a work out shirt, jammed feet into tennis shoes and breathlessly answered the door for Mr. M. . . . The pants I had found in my harried search were work out capris — otherwise known as yoga pants.

Personally, Duran makes clear, she likes yoga pants:

I like them because not only are they comfortable — as all yoga pants are — but I look trendy. . . . I like that look, regardless of the consequences. 

But there are consequences. 

At this point my anthropologist ears perk up. Why are there consequences? What exactly is wrong with wearing the pants? What’s her rationale? The issue, for Duran, is modesty. Denouncing yoga pants has to do with sartorial choice as it does for Rowthorn, but in Duran’s rationale modesty trumps fashion preference. In the latter’s mind, wearing yoga pants is immodest:

The issue isn’t yoga pants at all, but the principle of the matter. The pants are skin tight. You can see every curve of my lower body. Not only is it attractive to Mr. M [her husband], but from several other informal interviews, comments, and input from other men, it’s a recurring blind spot with Christian women everywhere. It’s about how hot I look, or how I want to dress, regardless of what anybody thinks. 

Wearing yoga pants contradicts the advice given to her by her husband and other Christian men. Yoga pants, and other revealing/immodest/form-fitting/short-hemline/tight types of clothing generate lust in men. And lust, she writes, corresponds directly to the ways women dress and present their (em)bodied selves. The level of men’s lust toward women’s bodies, in fact,

is directly related to how much of our bodies is available to lust after. The less we advertise, the less opportunity we give them to covet our bodies.

Avoidance of sin does cut both ways, though, in Duran’s conception. Men are responsible for not sexually objectifying women’s bodies, yes, but only partially so:

It is not just his job not to look: it is our responsibility to provide nothing provocative to look at. We cannot blame men for what we instigate, and it is time for women of God to start acknowledging our responsibility in this matter, taking up our cross, and honoring God with our dress. 

Mr. M himself even contributes a quote to the post:

Yoga pants make it difficult to work out [at the gym or fitness center] when the girls are right there and the pants are so tight, it’s basically like the woman is naked.

Duran and Mr. M are very clear on the matter: Honoring God requires that women abstain from wearing yoga pants. Yoga pants are immodest and lead to men’s sexual sin. They are, as she writes later in the post, a particularly powerful “visual stimulant.”

Rowthorn and Duran, then, reach an identical conclusion: Women ought to stop wearing yoga pants. The means by which the writers go about reaching that conclusion, though are different. Rowthorn’s method is largely a sartorial one. For her what is at stake is the fashion identity of American women. Duran’s method, to the contrary, is a religious or moral one. What is at stake is the purity, modesty, and physical-spiritual health of Christian women and men. Two strategies, one outcome. Two rationales, one pronouncement. Leggings as slobby fashion choices; yoga pants as immodest and revealing articles of clothing. Both writers, though, work to mark yoga pants as dangerous and taboo.

As always, when I’m analyzing the creation and maintenance of social taboos, social anthropologist Mary Douglas informs my thinking. In her seminal work, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concept of Pollution and Taboo, Douglas advances the argument that all cultural groups, operating within some sort of social system, engage in processes of separation, tidying, purification, cleansing, and demarcating–all for the purpose of unifying group experience and reinforcing social schema or patterns. Certain things, however, arise in social settings that pose a threat to the ordered system; these new problems threaten the order of the system and must then be policed and managed by social authorities. Such contagions Douglas categorizes as polluting, dirty, anomalous, discordant, ambiguous, and untidy. These things that don’t fit within established social schema must either be (i) accommodated into said system, that is, explained, categorized, and accounted for, or (ii) rejected as polluting and dirty.

The yoga pants controversy, I’d argue, exemplifies Douglas’s second point. Yoga pants are ambiguous in terms of wardrobe, right? (What exactly are they? Work-out pants? Athletic apparel? Lower-body layers under dresses and skirts?) The voices above, while they only partially appropriate the clothing (Rowthorn: leggings fine for early a.m. classes; Duran: yoga pants not inherently evil, just not to be worn in public situations under which one might be subjected to male gaze), work more adamantly to dismiss the clothing altogether. Yoga pants, then, are dangerous. Wearing them threatens either (i) style/fashion/sartorial taste (i.e., leggings as a “fashion abomination”) or (ii) religious/modesty/purity standards. Either way, they’re denounced and rejected.

Not all of my questions as a social and cultural theorist are immediately cleared up, however. We witness two seemingly differentiated pollution strategies being employed, but for what appears to be a shared purpose or outcome. But how related are the two tactics? According to Douglas, the presence of dirt signals the existence of system. In our case two methods pertain, but do both relate back to a singular normative system? And what are the implications of a society (or loosely-aligned sub-societies) that monitor and police the bodies of one (gendered) segment of its population but not others?

Image credit: Hegemony77 (Creative Commons)

Emergents as “Dirty” Evangelicals

For the past few months I’ve been working on a definitional essay of the Emerging Church Movement (ECM), mostly because as an Americanist in religious studies and anthropology, I would like to know, in terms of the production of classificatory academic knowledge, (i) what the ECM is, (ii) where the movement originates, (iii) what it is like, descriptively, and (iv) where it fits in the spectrum of emerging North American Protestantism (notice: lowercase c).

That the ECM resists definitions, that it defies etic categorization, is by now truistic in every sense of the word. The ECM is diverse—there’s no question at all—and its practices and rituals vary per community or gathering. I concede the point. But enough primary source monographs have been written by emerging writers to begin the comparative program that is the core of religious studies. Emic definitions are ripe for comparison and contrast. Myriad blog posts bombard online discourse hubs, just waiting for analysis. As of yet, scholars have all but ignored the academic study of the ECM, with the masterful and recent exception of anthropologist James Bielo’s ethnographically multi-site Emerging Evangelicals.

At this point, I’m still collecting definitions and formulating my own. I’ve consulted the writings of many of the movement’s primary writers: Tickle, Jones, Ward, Knight, McLaren, Pagitt, Gibbs and Bolger, McKnight, Snider and Bowen, Rollins, and Scandrette, just to name a few. But as I’ve reflected on the diversity of the movement, especially as represented by these above figures, I’ve had a thought: Emergents—or those emerging, or those who self-identify with the ECM—are dirty evangelicals. Here I draw on anthropologist Mary Douglas’ famous theory of taboo and pollution, dirt and order. As she puts it in her own words, dirt is “a kind of compendium category for all events which blur, smudge, contradict, or otherwise confuse accepted classifications.” Dirt blends and smears categories; it blurs and obfuscates delineations. And while the term is certainly vulgar and possibly offensive at first glance, it does seem to instructively describe the state of the ECM. Emergents defy both academically descriptive as well as theologically-derived taxonomies. I’m thinking here of the ECM’s close identification with all things “postmodern,” which in some fields of the academy, most notably the visual arts, might be described in terms of hyper-eclecticism, combinativity, and juxtaposition. I’m thinking here of Tickle’s claim in The Great Emergence that emerging communities blend together the four quadrilaterals of Christian practice (which she calls the “Liturgicals,” “Social Justice Christians,” “Renewalists,” and “Conservatives”). I’m thinking of McLaren’s multifarious A Generous Orthodoxy.

One more point reinforces my use of Douglas’ theory to categorize the ECM. Within conservative evangelicalism, the reaction to this point has been primarily negative. Many see the ECM as theologically dangerous, and so construe it, unknowingly, of course, in Douglas’ theoretical terminologies. The ECM, to much of evangelicalism, operates at the margins of traditional Christianity (i.e., it is marginal) and its teachings heterodox. It operates at the fringes of Protestantism. Its practices are polluting.

So, what do you think? Are emergents “dirty” in the way Mary Douglas envisioned the term?