Uniforms are our protection. They cloak us and show the outside how we wish ourselves to be seen. Rarely do we wear who we really are. Only glimpses of the pieces of our puzzled lives.
To be truly seen one must be bare of all coverings. Laid open physically to give release to what is hidden emotionally. Once stripped of that which we think protects us, we are free to protect ourselves, stand in the strength that is all our own.
But, we are a visual species. The need to see…the belief that what we see is what’s real…controls us. Think to the times you have felt free once you’ve given up control…you were most likely bare in more than one manner.
Of course, I am referring to our sexual being; however, I will admit there are other manners in which to be bare. Mine is more pleasurable.
Why else are you picturing me in skin tight leathers…rubber?...latex?...vinyl? Your fantasy; your material.
Why else do authority figures wear uniforms and we look to submit to their power?
Why else do we find nurses’ uniforms titillating? We want to strip them of their control, look under the crisp professional veneer.
Why else is it desirable to strip out of our own uniforms and bare ourselves?