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Don’t touch the buttons!

Do you ever wonder why shirt buttons seem to have a gendered placement? I hesitate to ask that sort of question nowadays, of course, now that gender is such a thing -so fluid. You will no doubt also have observed that I have not mentioned blouses either, in a naïve attempt to avoid Gen Z disdain.

But, controversies aside, the issue of pride-of-place has risen to undreamt-of proportions: buttons on (shudder) women’s clothing are apparently relegated to the left side of the shirt, whereas on (sigh) men’s, they’re supposed to line up on the right. I have to say that I had never noticed, however. I mean you grab the button on whichever side it lives, and shove it into the matching hole on the opposite side. End of problem.

Of course, I was once married, and I’m not sure there was an equal division of all sartorial appurtenances when she left. For years now, I may have been wearing gender-fluid garments. Who checks the button position on something that has lived most of its celibate existence in the corner of a seldom explored closet? Anyway, I only put on brightly coloured clothes when I am invited out for dinner, and given that I am usually the only unattached man (sorry, unattached person) at the table, I am considered a loose cannon, no matter my attire. I had never thought it might be a button-issue, though…

For that matter, until I happened upon a little essay about buttons the other day[i], I didn’t know there was a man-side of a shirt. Button-design, okay: I wouldn’t choose a shirt with big designer buttons, and petite, hard-to-shove-through, standard button-holes, but I have come to accept that I am not Gen Z either. Not to disparage their choice of buttons, or anything, but let’s face it, they are a different crew from those of us who grew up with black and white TV.

But, really, it’s not the shape of the buttons on a shirt, so much as where they live I suppose; addresses seem to make a difference. Some stuff is more likely to occur in certain areas that would be frowned upon elsewhere; there are places I wouldn’t dare visit after dark, for example. I learned that when I was on my first date, got the side wrong, and the porch light suddenly came on before I could decide where to re-tuck her button.

Still, there must be something that starts a tradition, eh? Otherwise buttons and their receptacle holes would be competitively distributed; society, let alone naïve users do not need more angst these days.

I can see the need for predictably placed, reliable, quick-action buttons when you’re breast feeding, of course, but then why not make button placement the same for everybody no matter their, well, their proclivities?

The argument that convinces me most, of course, is the side on which I wear my sword -or at least would have in the olden days. Since 90% of people are right-handed like me, our swords would of necessity have hung from our waists on the left side (in case of a need for quick withdrawal from the scabbard). Thus, if a shirt buttoned right over left, the handle of the sword would be likely to catch in the shirt when drawn. I’m not sure what I’d have done if I were left-handed… probably avoid walking downtown at night, I suppose.

And then there’s the apocryphal decree of Napoleon who was tired of women mocking his habit of posing with his right hand behind the buttons he undid in his waistcoat: he decreed that women’s shirts be buttoned on the opposite side to men’s… really?

Anyway, the retired guys I meet for coffee are a strange bunch; I don’t think any of them even thinks about buttons, except whether or not they’ve chosen the right holes for them. We’re all of an age, though: we all have lived our lives the way we have and none of us are particularly open to change.

Well, except perhaps Allen -his tastes have always been florid. He thought nothing of wearing bright pink pants, or purple flowered shirts to our meetings. I suppose everything matched; I’ve never understood the rules of fashion, but my choice in clothes was obviously different from his. I was pretty sure he never visited the bargain tables at Value Village thrift stores like me.

Anyway, the other day I showed up in a shirt I’d found in a thrift store that I thought was quite fashionable, although its blue ridged stripes were unable to disguise its faded glory. Allen, however, had outdone himself with his orange slacks and bright, but otherwise plain, yellow satin shirt that cried out for someone to touch it.

“G,” Allen said as soon as I sat down across from him at the table. “I love your shirt!” His eyes  seemed alive with envy for once.

I was embarrassed at him drawing attention to my clothes -well, okay I was also a bit flattered that he had approved of my choice. Unfortunately it was wrinkled, and I attempted to flatten the front so he could see how it should look. I never iron things after I wash them, but I hadn’t even washed the shirt yet; this was its virgin appearance with the guys.

“It’s Seersucker isn’t it?”

At first, I smiled at what sounded like a naughty comment. I had no idea what he was talking about, but then I shrugged nonchalantly as if, of course, it was seersucker…

His smile widened the longer he stared at it. “I’m impressed, G,” he finally said after his eyes had stroked the little stripes and slid effortlessly over the creases. “You’re really branching out in your dotage…”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, but I was curious. “What do you mean ‘branching out’ Allen?”

His eyes suddenly twinkled and his smile turned mischievous. “The buttons…”

I risked a quick survey of the buttons. I’d left the top two undone to give the shirt a rakish look, but otherwise, none of the buttons were in the wrong holes and none were missing.

I must have looked puzzled, so he decided to explain. “They’re all on the left side of your shirt, G.” He glanced at the others at the table and winked mischievously as they smiled at him.

I suppose the clothes on bargain tables are unisex, or perhaps simply random; I didn’t really know about button rules at the time. But then I had a closer look at Allen’s shirt; his buttons were all lefties as well.

I felt instantly better, I have to admit: he obviously shopped at the thrift counter as well…

[i]https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/mens-shirts-button-on-the-right-why-do-womens-button-on-the-left-180957361

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