Fashion police go wild over a bit of cleavage

BOSTON — Among the endless reasons I will never run for public office is a deep-seated fear of having my wardrobe subject to the fashion police. Excuse me, the fashion shrinks — those media monitors who seek deep meaning in every shoe, sexual clues in every hemline and psychological insights in every shirt collar.

Just imagine the casual summer wardrobe that I am modeling so stylishly at this very moment. What would the fashionbabblers have to say about my well-worn khaki capris? That they display a certain comfort-first sensibility? Or does that flash of calf reveal a senior citizen insouciance? What of the green polo shirt? Does it symbolize my bond with the Land's End sisterhood? Or my rebellion from the designer-label sophisticate? And what to make of my lime-colored Crocs with their peek-a-boo holes. Do they express a certain post-feminist funkiness? Or do they expose a feminine (if chipped) pedicure?

This self-couture-analysis comes in response to the latest piece on Hillary Clinton's attire by The Washington Post's resident fashionista. Robin Givhan's cultural critique began with a holy-moly observation: "There was cleavage on display Wednesday afternoon on C-SPAN2. It belonged to Sen. Hillary Clinton."

Givhan's 750-word plunge into the shirt of the presidential candidate had women throwing up their hands (among other things) all over the blogosphere. Cleavage! As one blogger responded, the senator has breasts. Two of them. Details at 11.

Only in Washington would a fashion reporter get tips watching C-SPAN2. But the Post piece managed to make a media mountain out of a half-inch valley. As one of the thousands who have scrutinized the black V-neck top on the Internet, I can attest that it barely (in both senses of the word) fits Wikipedia's definition of cleavage, as in: "The cleft created by the partial exposure of a woman's breasts, especially when exposed by low-cut clothing."

Nevertheless, Givhan fashionbabbled the heck out of the V-neck. Clinton's cleavage, she wrote, was a "small acknowledgment of sexuality and femininity." It was "like catching a man with his fly unzipped." It was also a "teasing display." And to wrap things up, she explained: "To display cleavage in a setting that does not involve cocktails and hors d'oeuvres is a provocation. It requires that a woman be utterly at ease in her skin, coolly confident about her appearance, unflinching about her sense of style."

Not even Nora Ephron, who wrote a book called "I Feel Bad About My Neck," could have spent more energy deconstructing a neckline. Isn't there, somewhere, a booby prize for covering pulchritude instead of policy?