What To Wear

I often wonder about what people wore in the days of Jesus. Surely the royalty and the military were encased with protective wear and all the display of wealth possible. They wanted the public and their enemies to know they were powerful, camouflaged, decorated, and more than likely adorned with the latest and greatest of style and gear. These, of course, were the wealthy. We all know what Caesar looked like. His weird hair style that seemed he was losing a load of it. We today have sort of based our visions on what we see in the movies, trusting the costumer has done his or her research so we are getting a glance at the way things were.

But now, in this time of discontent, the curious time of Advent, which is supposed to be a beginning, we get acquainted with John the Baptist who was the original hippy, I guess. He was not at all concerned about his appearance, but it seems put more interest on simplicity and long endurance because as he wandered up and down the Jordan, he certainly didn’t need a suitcase full of attires. What he had on was what he had. And I surmise that he leaped into the rivers and got cleaned frequently as he baptized those willing to go deep into the river to get completely wet to get that cross on their forehead.  I’m curious if people disrobed to step into the river (which isn’t so deep today), but I don’t think John the Baptist did a cross on the forehead or poured a cup of blessed water three times as we do today at least in the Anglican-Episcopal or Catholic world. (Remember the Trinity was not yet experienced.)  I’m sure John the Baptist wasn’t concerned about how he looked or what robe he would put on that morning. He seemed to have only one and he wore it day and night, I surmise.

In those days, I think there was lots of common fabrics which people wrapped up in like exotic packages, especially the Romans - who probably could afford so many yards of fabric so they would outshine any modern-day Muslim or Ghanian or chieftain - and thank God, no one ran around in short skirts and bouncing boobs as girls and women do today to show off whatever they are trying to show off. It is disgusting at time.  And parents wonder why their daughters get raped? 

Wintertime is a relief in the Northern Hemisphere because at least people don heavy coats and wool scarves to stay warm, especially when they are outside and in the public environment. For sure, in the days of the birth of Christianity, they didn’t have t-shirts with mottos and pictures of Jesus on the cross. Today, T-shirts seem to be the most common piece of clothing in which people feel safe and well decorated, on which probably they are expressing their political views, advertising their favorite sports team or their muscles, or their artistic bent. But in the days Jesus walked this earth, I think people dressed very much like each other, their bodies well hidden, and there were only a few warrior defenders with bosses who wore seemingly too short metallic like “dresses” so they wouldn’t lose a minute if someone was to attack them on the road, in war or in a dispute.

I wonder if there were gangs and protestors who disrupted the security of life and home in those days, like happens today, which keeps us alert and locked down and glued to the news to find out where the next disaster is happening. In the days of Jesus, it took a while for rumors to snake around and reveal itself to the holy people, the common people, those who defended the powers that were.

I once loved fashion and was blessed when, in 1960 I was an intern on the Memphis Commercial Appeal, and learned from Ida Clement, the then fashion editor who was a tough lady if I ever met one. She sent me out to review trunk shows in the high-grade women’s stores. Levys and Goldsmiths were popular then as were some small boutiques.  But it was in the 1970s when I was in the women’s department of the Press Scimitar, I became fashion editor and had the great experience of attending Fashion Week in New York and in Los Angeles, and even in Montreal, Canada. There I could interview the top of the top line American designers as Stephen Burrows, Halston, Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Giorgio de Angelo, and Bill Blass, so many who actually befriended me. Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar were the Bibles of the fashion world, and once a year there was a weekend in New Jersey where menswear was celebrated.

Among the models who showed the clothes on the runways were the most fun of all from Sara Kapp and Tasha and Beth Hardison. and the men, like Tony Spinelli, Joop Sandee, Doug Barr, and my favorite, Renauld White.  They all took me in their group and kept this overweight Southern belle safe and for a couple of years, gave a party for my birthday during Fashion Week. I learned so much - not only about clothing - mostly what one sees on the runway never hits the streets or didn’t in the ‘70s - but the life of the models.

On some streets now and then, appeared religious claimers who wore John the Baptist style rustic clothes usually carry placards claiming the world was coming to an end. I saw those when I was a child. They scared me. The protester’s hair was in horrible disarray, and they smelled like they needed baths. I don’t see them anymore. Everyone seems to have a protest placard and don’t have to dress for the occasion in a John the Baptist type robe. Anything will do.

It is ironic that after extreme fashion, I became an ordained deacon and then priest, and the only color I have worn day in and day out since 1993 has been black. And I don’t wear T-shirts. I do wear colorful scarves to give me a lift. I’m sure John the Baptist didn’t wear black. Black as a religious attire basic probably didn’t really occur until, I surmise, the church was structured in about 350 A.D. by Constantine. Popes wore white, Bishops wore purple, priests, and deacons, black.  I don’t know when that really started, but it is sort of the rigor today. I believe African Bishops may have brightened up the scene quite a bit and I long to return to where I was first married in the Anglican Church in Arusha, Tanzania, to meet the African bishop in that place I knew and loved in 1963. I’m hoping to do it next year. God is incredible.

 ~ Rev
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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
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