Women Still Face Dress Codes — In Schools and in State Legislatures

As a Gen Z woman serving on a school board in America, I was not shocked to see the Missouri legislature recently passed a new dress code for women legislators and staff members in the State House of Representatives. The updated dress code requires women to wear a jacket because, as State Representative Ann Kelley, a Republican, who introduced it, said on the House floor, it "is essential to always maintain a formal and professional atmosphere."

The Connecticut school board I serve on also recently dealt with dress codes — not among ourselves, but among our students. Last fall, we rewrote our district's dress code to combat the disproportionate impact of the previous dress code on our female students. Many of the female students themselves had asked us to revisit the codes, so we took a look. Our policy committee was bipartisan and tri-generational and looked at the data and shared our experiences with the dress code as former students in the same school system. We also discussed the impacts of the current dress code. The data showed that the dress code found fault with young women far more often than young men. We also heard from women that the code had left them negatively questioning their body image. In particular, a rule that a girl's short pants must be longer than the tips of her fingers stood out. Some girls have longer arms than others. Some have shorter legs. It's arbitrary. Another rule said girls couldn't have their bra straps showing. Knowing how difficult it can be to find undergarments that fit correctly in the throes of puberty, a group of female students advocated strongly to revise this provision.

So, we rewrote the dress code with equity as the focus. It was body-type inclusive and positive and ensured no student, regardless of gender, would feel targeted by the new code. We voted it through, and a recent poll of our students showed that they appreciated the changes and felt the new dress code was more equitable.

I may be unsurprised by the Missouri legislature's dress code, therefore, but I'm still angry about it — not just because it's sexist, but because of its political implications. First, politicians from any party would be wise to remember that the next generation will likely decide their future; Gen Z and Millennials will soon be the biggest voting bloc in the country, and we've had it with this kind of sexist nonsense on both sides of the aisle.

But this is ultimately about a bigger problem. Women are largely underrepresented in politics, partly because of sexist barriers at every turn. A young woman must be asked seven times to run for office, and she gets asked far less often than young men. I only ran for office after going through a "Young Women Run" conference with a young women's political empowerment organization called IGNITE. It's the sort of thing designed to disrupt the barriers that prevent gender parity in public office. It helped me have the confidence to say yes the first time I was asked to run, which is why I ran at just 21 years old.

One big sexist barrier revolves around our clothes. Women's fashion choices are constantly scrutinized in public life, even if they've earned their places there through the hardest work imaginable. Meanwhile, the New York Times ran a story pointing out that Congressman George Santos has worn the right "costume" for office. He fabricated and lied about his background and accomplishments, but simply dressing the part seems to have gone a long way to convince people he belonged in the House. If he were a woman, could he have used clothing as a tool this way?

As more Gen Z women run for office, you can expect more of us to fight back against these sexist policies and redefine how women are viewed regardless of what we wear. We will ensure that the day will come when no one will ask about the clothes we wear but rather our thoughts, our policies, and our achievements.