Let me tell you a little secret, gentlemen. We know.
When we sit down and cross our legs, and the hem of our skirt shifts just so, revealing a hint of lace welt or perhaps a suspender strap – we are perfectly aware of what you’ve just seen. When we walk ahead of you and you find your eyes drawn to the seams running down our calves, we know you’re looking. That little catch in your breath when you notice? We hear it. We’ve always heard it.
And here’s the thing that might surprise you: we don’t mind. Not when it’s done with respect, with that unspoken appreciation that requires no words and certainly no comments. There is, in fact, a quiet pleasure in it.
“There is a world of difference between being leered at and being admired. Every woman knows the distinction instinctively.”
I’ve read accounts from men who vividly remember the first time they noticed a woman in stockings. A girl cycling past in Southampton in 1967, her summer dress riding up to reveal tan stockings and white suspenders. A young woman in a university library in 1981, her skirt slit showing a black garter strap as she crossed her legs. These memories, preserved for decades with almost photographic clarity, speak to something rather profound.
What strikes me about these recollections is their reverence. These weren’t conquests or encounters. They were moments of pure, almost innocent appreciation – the beauty of a well-dressed woman going about her day, entirely in command of herself and, in some subtle way, of the room.
Because that’s what stockings give us, you see. Not just prettier legs or a more elegant silhouette, though they certainly provide those. They give us a private knowledge. Beneath our professional attire, our evening dresses, our everyday skirts, we carry a small, delicious secret. The silk against our thighs, the gentle tension of the suspenders, the knowledge that we have taken extra care – these things change how we move, how we sit, how we carry ourselves.
And yes, how we feel when we catch someone noticing.
There is a world of difference between being leered at and being admired. Every woman knows the distinction instinctively. The leer makes us feel diminished, reduced to parts. The quiet admiration – the glance that lingers just a moment before politely looking away – that makes us feel seen. Appreciated. Perhaps even a little powerful.
Some might call this dynamic old-fashioned. Perhaps it is. It belongs to an era when elegance required effort, when underwear was meant to be beautiful even if no one saw it, when the glimpse of a stocking top was genuinely thrilling precisely because it wasn’t meant to be seen. In our age of athleisure and bare legs, there’s something almost subversive about suspenders and seams.
I suspect this is why stockings endure, decade after decade, despite being less ‘practical’ than tights. They endure because they offer something that practical things cannot: a little frisson, a little mystery, a little game played between the woman who wears them and whoever might be fortunate enough to notice.
“Beneath our professional attire, our evening dresses, our everyday skirts, we carry a small, delicious secret.”
To the gentlemen who appreciate stockings with the respect they deserve: we see you too. We notice the way your eyes light up, just briefly, before you remember your manners. We appreciate that you appreciate. And we rather enjoy the quiet complicity of it all.
To the ladies who still bother with suspenders in this age of convenience: isn’t it lovely? That little ritual of getting dressed, the satisfying click of the clips, the final check in the mirror to ensure the seams are straight. We do it for ourselves, of course. But there’s no harm in admitting that we also do it, just a little, for those stolen glances.
After all, what is elegance without an audience?
