It's not cute
Earlier this week I was walking down the sidewalk in my kilt, on my way to procure a cup of coffee from the coffee shop at the end of the block. It was a chilly, rather windy day. I was dressed, if I may say so myself, rather conservatively. I was wearing one of my MacQuarrie kilts, brown House of Cheviot Lewis hose, a tattersall shirt, sweater-vest (pullover for you Brits), and a tweed kilt jacket. As far as "showing skin" the only flesh visible to anyone was on my face, hands, and knees. As I was walking a woman a good 10 to 15 years my senior pulled into one of the parking spaces along the sidewalk. She opened her door and called out, "I hope you're wearing thermal underwear!" She was smiling, so I politely smiled back, gave a little wave, and kept walking. But in my head I was thinking, "What is it about me wearing my ethnic dress that makes you feel you can comment freely about my underwear (or lack thereof)." I've worn a kilt for more ...