Growing up in church, about once every couple months, the youth pastor would dedicate the Wednesday night to one of Christianity’s favorite topics: modesty.
They’d always try to spin it so us teenagers would think talking about modesty was cool, but it never worked. Mostly, it just felt like a GIANT guilt trip that went something like this …
[I’m paraphrasing … keep in mind these are filtered through my teenage memories of myself.]
“Girls, you dress like floozies … it breaks God’s heart … you should feel terrible … and don’t be surprised when guys act like animals … you’re just asking for it. MODEST IS HOTTEST, AMIRIGHT?!” (Whoever came up with this is probably a monk.)
“Guys, you’re a bunch of hornballs … quit staring … I know the girls are wearing those sinful bikinis … and short shorts … and cleavage … but you’re a man … and if you stare too long, that means you’ve just had sex in your heart … and we all know what that means, don’t we?” (We didn’t.)
Then, they’d split us up by gender and pour on as many guilt-and-shame-inducing lectures about sexuality, porn, thoughts and virginity (or 2nd chance virginity, or 4th chance … 5th chance?) as they could.
Basically, however many times you’d had sex, you could rededicate yourself to God and be a virgin again. To this day, I’m not quite sure how that worked, but I think the magic only worked if we signed a pledge card … then, BOOM, you’re a virgin again?
Honestly, as a teenage guy in those moments, there was this strange strength I’d get from the “sex nights” at youth group. I’d go home after I signed my card and believe (even though the Bible was RARELY used correctly during the sermon) that I was indeed called to live the way they told us to.
This feeling would last until the next morning. After that, it was back to the normal feelings of, “but, how do I do all the stuff they said in REAL LIFE?”
Every girl and guy I knew would wake up on Thursday and still long to be enjoyed … attractive … invited.
I’ll often write at a local coffee shop, and the number of women that wear purpose-driven yoga pants combined with the number of men that take notice is staggering. (And they’re not teenagers in youth group anymore.)
What are purpose-driven yoga pants, you ask?
Well, they’re form fitting (and by form fitting I mean FORM FITTING), opaque leggings worn by women who may, or probably don’t, do yoga, worn under the premise of comfort, but really in hopes someone will notice.
Men always notice.