For the past week, the most powerful lawmakers in the U.S. have been embroiled in a heated debate about gym shorts. Thanks to a directive from Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, the Senate no longer has a business attire dress code. This has allowed Sen. John Fetterman, a first-term Democrat from Pennsylvania, to vote on the Senate floor and preside over the legislative body in his signature Carhartt hoodies, sneakers, and baggy athletic shorts.
Republicans have seized the moment as an opportunity to accuse Democrats of defiling their noble workplace. Sen. Susan Collins said the new dress code erodes the “certain dignity” of the Senate and “debases the institution.” According to Sen. John Cornyn, the rule change was yet another indication that Schumer “doesn’t respect the Senate.”
Sen. Lisa Murkowski said, of wearing casual clothes to work, “it’s a respect thing, it’s like going to church in your jeans, or going to a funeral in jeans.” (The Senate: as serious as a funeral!) Sen. Tommy Tuberville—who is widely believed to be one of the stupidest people on Capitol Hill and is single-handedly blocking hundreds of military promotions and appointments in an effort to make it harder for soldiers to get abortions—declared, “You got people walking around in shorts, that don’t fly with me.”
Setting aside the question of whether the Senate should make accommodations to support the physical and mental comfort of a man recovering from a stroke and severe depression that left him hospitalized, the discourse around the lack of dress code has neglected one crucial part of the narrative: Gym shorts are quintessential American culture.
Now, I’m no fashion historian, so I can’t explain how, when, or why gym shorts became the traditional attire of the heterosexual American male. But I do have eyeballs and a very low threshold for disapproving of other people’s outfits—so I can confidently state that ill-fitting athletic shorts (particularly mesh shorts, which Fetterman usually eschews in favor of a solid weave) are one of the few aesthetic signifiers that tie red states to blue states, coast to coast, across lines of race, class, and educational attainment.
And since the pandemic accelerated preexisting fashion trends toward the loose, the comfortable, and the casual, gym shorts have become an even more central element of the American wardrobe. Add a pair of wraparound sunglasses and a fitted baseball cap, and you’ve approximated the look of about 50 percent of the white men in any given town or small-to-medium-sized U.S. city.
This isn’t meant to be gym shorts apologia. If the average man put a little more distance between the things he wears for everyday human interaction and the things he wears for working out or napping, the world would be a more pleasant place. (People of other genders can and should wear any shorts they wish.) Do shorts that were made to accommodate vigorous movement and withstand industrial-grade bouts of perspiration need to find their way into restaurants, museums, concert venues, and other places where people generally go to see and be seen, not to sweat and be sweated upon? No. But is it right to ban one of this country’s most favored garments from the place where its laws are made? Absolutely not.
Fetterman campaigned in shorts and sweatshirts. His constituents voted him into office expecting to see more shorts and sweatshirts. Maybe they like shorts and sweatshirts? And if they ever get tired of shorts and sweatshirts, in five years, they’ll have a chance to vote him out in favor of linen pants, crop tops, statement necklaces, or whatever else appears on the Pennsylvania Senate ballot in 2028.
That is, if the Senate itself can survive the affront in the meantime. According to some, gym shorts could undermine the sanctity and credibility of the legislative body that saw eight members vote to overturn a democratic election in the hours after a deadly attempted coup. In an absurdly melodramatic op-ed condemning the dress code change, the Washington Post editorial board wrote, “Putting on a suit creates an occasion for lawmakers to reflect, just for a moment, on the special responsibilities with which the people have entrusted them and on a deliberative process that at least aspires to solemnity.”
If putting on a suit could force legislators to approach their jobs in good faith, respect the Constitution, act in pursuit of the greatest public good, not try to overturn elections, et cetera, we would all be clamoring for mandatory business attire. Centuries of history have shown us otherwise. Will the all-American gym short save the Senate? Probably not. But at this point, we should be eager to give it a shot.
