a story where gender clothes change in the 18 cent
a story where gender clothes change in the 18 century where men are still the bread winners but wear dresses and women are still housewifes but wear suits.
The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains of Mrs. Hawthorne’s parlor, illuminating the fine mahogany desk where her husband, Edward, sat. He was meticulously adjusting the collar of his emerald green dress, a faint frown creasing his brow as he wrestled with the delicate lace ruffles.
“Another day, another collar,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation. He sighed, finally settling the fabric in place and turning to his wife, who sat by the window, her crisp, tailored suit a stark contrast to his feminine attire.
“Good morning, Edward,” she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “How was your sleep?”
“As good as one can expect in this…” he trailed off, gesturing at his dress with a sigh. “This ridiculous garment.”
In the 18th century, societal norms were turned on their heads. Men wore dresses, their days filled with domestic duties and the delicate art of embroidery, while women donned suits, handling the finances and managing the family businesses. The shift had been gradual, a consequence of a series of social and economic changes that had taken place over decades. Men, once warriors and laborers, had become adept at maintaining the household, their hands skilled in weaving, sewing, and tending to the gardens.
“Do not be so dramatic, Edward,” Mrs. Hawthorne chuckled, her gaze falling on the neatly stacked ledgers beside him. “You seem to be quite adept at managing the finances.”
Edward chuckled, his hand trailing over the embroidered flowers on his bodice. “As adept as one can be with a needle in hand, I suppose. However, I still dream of the day I can wear a proper suit, join you at the bank, and discuss business with other men…er, women, in a language they understand.”
Mrs. Hawthorne rose from her chair, her suit rustling as she moved. “Patience, my dear,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Times are changing. Perhaps, one day, our children will be free to choose their own attire, regardless of their gender.”
Edward smiled, his eyes filled with a glimmer of hope. “Yes, perhaps,” he agreed, looking at his wife with newfound admiration. “Perhaps our children will finally be able to walk in shoes, both literally and figuratively, that fit them.”
The day unfolded in a flurry of activity. Edward spent the morning in the kitchen, preparing a delicate breakfast for the family, while Mrs. Hawthorne met with a client at their local bank, her sharp mind calculating interest rates and navigating the intricacies of investments. Their lives, though seemingly reversed, were interwoven in a tapestry of love and mutual respect, built on the foundation of an evolving society.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Edward sat on the porch, his dress rustling gently in the evening breeze. He looked at the bustling marketplace, a sea of vibrant colours, men in dresses and women in suits, their lives a testament to the unpredictable nature of time and change. He wondered, with a quiet hope, what the future held for his children, their choices, and the legacy they would inherit from this era of reversed expectations.
