Afew years ago when I was in the midst of moving into a new apartment, I cut my finger while slicing a tomato. It was so bad I thought I needed stitches and I didn’t have a first-aid kit easily accessible, so I called my youngest brother, who was working as a junior doctor at a nearby hospital. He came over with what he called the Rolls-Royce of Band-Aids, applied one carefully to my finger and asked me if I’d help him choose a skirt to wear to a party that night.
Helping him pick outfits is one of my favourite activities. At his request, I put on Dua Lipa (the party was in her honour) while he modelled the different options with a twirl and a hip pop. We picked one, decided on shoes and that he’d wear his shirt tucked in. As he went to leave I had to catch myself from asking if he was going to put trousers on for the bike ride to the party.
He is six years younger than me, but in that moment I was surprised at my own instinct for conservatism and grateful that in the years between us, gender norms have softened so much that he could leave the house in a skirt without thinking twice.
Of course, it helps that he’s handsome and he was riding his bike across Melbourne’s inner north, but the experience – from his expertise as a “grown-up” medical professional to his assuredness in his own feminine-masculinity – left me full of pride at the person he is. And thankful that (in some ways) we live in an increasingly open-minded society. Here, four men describe their adventures in skirts.