My Life in Stockings

An Evolution From Garter Belt, to Panty Hose to Knee Highs to the Hell With It All (i.e. Pants)

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1.  The Debut

The girl’s dress code in my 1960s grade school consisted of a skirt or jumper, sturdy Oxford shoes and bobby sox or knee socks in the winter.  Stockings were not permitted. The kneecap had to be exposed.  Perhaps the rationale was that the stockings would draw curious eyes beyond the hem of the skirt and distract boys from the serious business of education. Tights were eventually allowed, but not sheer stockings.

Dancing school started in sixth grade.  Boys wore coats and ties. Girls wore little white gloves and a dress, something more formal than school attire. At the beginning of the year everyone showed up in a classier version of bobby socks, perhaps with a chaste bow or a demure ruffle. There was no explicit dress code, but as the school year progressed, girls began to transition to sheer stockings and party shoes, defined as something other than sneakers or oxfords.

In the context of an innocent sixth grader, stockings became a public display of emerging sexuality. The onset of menstruation was a private matter, the first bra was revealed in the locker room, but sheer stockings were there for everyone to see - classmates, boys and parents. Stockings signaled a girl would be receptive to a passed note in class, or an invitation to a game of Spin the Bottle.   As I climbed the stairs to the musty dancing school gymnasium, I checked out the legs ahead of me to see who had crossed the line.   

My mother never discussed menstruation with me, which she called “the curse.” She simply handed me a box of Kotex. I was on my own bra-wise. However, when I told her that classmates were now wearing stockings, she took me to the local department store to pick out my first pair.  She didn’t want me to fall behind so visibly. 

The saleslady showed us different colors – taupe, nude, ecru – all new colors for me.  I draped a pair over my hand and held them up to the light to appreciate their shimmer and anatomic shape outlining a stylish calf and arched foot. 

A garter belt seemed like a strictly utilitarian accessory, but the saleswoman showed me a selection with lacy designs.  My God, could that sexpot at the next counter be looking at the same garter belt?  I was not shopping in the girls section anymore.

The saleslady wrapped my stockings up in tissue paper and put them in a flat square box.  Over the next few days, I peeked into the box, lifted the tissue paper, and touched their silky smoothness as I awaited my public reveal.    

2.  Pantyhose

Stockings with a garter belt were soon eclipsed by the unsophisticated pantyhose.  A dedicated trip to the hushed surroundings of the department store was replaced by a routine grocery store run with panty hose mixing in with cookie dough and dog food.  The popular brand L’Eggs wadded their pantyhose into an egg-shaped container.  There was no shimmer, no shape, only a wrinkled mass that looked like a deformed fetal version of the real thing. 

I missed the ventilation provided by the garter belt.  At days’ end, the best word to describe the suffocating pantyhose environment was “pooky.”  

Stockings had thrilled me and provided my first foray into forbidden glamour, but pantyhose awakened me to the double standard of the dress code.    

3.  Knee Highs

I began my pathology residency in the 1980s, performing autopsies and processing body parts removed at surgery.  I was decked out in a plastic apron, gloves, and a mask to protect me from third-party body fluids.  Even so, skirts with panty hose were part of the dress code – I was expected to look professional when interacting with surgeons, even though they were in the comfort of their bloody scrubs. 

Aha! A watershed moment.  Skirt lengths dropped from mid-thigh to below the knee.  Knee highs were now a possibility – no more panty hose, no pookiness, no longer rinsing a pair out at night, or wearing a still damp pair in the morning.

However, knee highs worked  only if they nestled in the crook behind the knee.  I remember bending over to hike up the socks every few steps, a humiliation I was willing to accept to be rid of panty hose.    

4.  Current Day

Sales of pantyhose have sagged over the past several decades, a result of changing dress codes and legions of women who have risen up and said, “Release the hostages. Now!” 

Michelle Obama proudly displays her bare legs.  On the women’s talk show The View, Michelle revealed that she gave up pantyhose years ago because they were “painful.” She did not specify whether the pain was psychologic or physical or both.   

Others consider pantyhose “make-up for the legs,” a necessity for women who don’t have Michelle’s toned legs or who can’t commit to a program of shaving.  I’ve never worn make-up and I rejected the woman’s dress code years ago.  However, I still retain a whisper of vanity.  Age has taken its toll. Spider veins, various other dings and irregularities are not features I wish to display.  I have bowed out of the battle over exposed limb flesh.  My solution is pants.  My legs have not seen the light of day for years.