The Pleasure of Pockets

When it comes to men, I don’t have penis envy, I have pocket envy. Most men’s clothes are full of pockets. A sports jacket alone has five or six pockets (including a possibly secret inside one). Pants or jeans provide another few. A man can carry all manner of things on his person, especially money (someone with a lot of it has “deep pockets”). He can carry a wallet, a handkerchief, a pen, a phone, a pocket knife, sunglasses and keys: basically wearing these things. He can have the little necessities with him all day long yet stroll around arms free.

Not so women. We have to carry handbags or backpacks because our clothing rarely supplies us with pockets, unless we wear a fisherman’s vest. What pockets we get are often small and ornamental. Sometimes they are merely suggested, with stitching. With tight jeans, pockets are scarcely operational, and leggings never have pockets.

The absence of pockets is especially egregious when it comes to women’s tennis attire. Playing tennis involves scooping up and holding extra balls. In the absence of pockets, you must stuff these balls into your tennis bloomers—not a good look, nor comfortable. Yet many, perhaps most, tennis dresses, skirts and shorts do not come with pockets.

About ten years ago, one of my sons went to China and brought home a beautiful gray and black silk robe for me. I remember the first time I wore it, absently running my hands along the sides, expecting pockets. I suppressed my disappointment, but I know I’d wear it more if it had a place to stash a tissue.

But my ultimate pocket outrage involves a cheerfully embroidered and artfully distressed blue jean jacket I bought this April. The first time I wore it, I began strolling along, talking to a friend, and I kept trying to tuck a lipstick into the left pocket. Without really thinking, and in conversation, I unbuttoned the pocket, opened the flap and kept poking futilely. Finally, I stopped to see what was going on. Then I saw the horrid truth: the flap and its metal button and button hole led to . . . no real pocket. The pockets were fake! Take a look at the jacket, above: wouldn’t you be fooled?   

Contrariwise, it’s such a bonus when you find a pocket unexpectedly. When you discover pockets in a new dress, it’s just a delightful surprise—not only because pockets let you carry around your mask or whatever but pockets give your hands a resting place. Whenever you’re waiting, it feels easy and good to slip your hands into pockets, to pose, as it were, yet feel natural.

And a pocket will often release a little surprise: the earrings or lighter or $20 bill you left in it last time. It’s not exactly a “pocket full of miracles,” as the song goes, but it’s a happy moment in the day.

A pocket protects what’s inside—and hides it as well. Alanis Morrisette sings, “I got one hand in my pocket and the other one is giving a peace sign.”  But what’s the hand in the pocket doing?