It was Friday afternoon, and it was the last class of the week. Gender Studies: This was a class that was supposed to teach the differences between the sexes in a more enlightened way. Well, that was the idea since Ms. Sloan had taken over teaching it at the start of the year.
They still followed the basics of the syllabus, but only just. Ms. Sloan was a man-hater, or so some of the boys thought. She had always taken the girls’ side of things against the boys. She was biased after all; she was one herself.
“Now we have a strict uniform policy at this school, don’t we?” Ms Sloan asked the assembled class that afternoon.
“Yes, Miss,” The students replied en masse.
“Which gender is the policy stricter towards?” Ms Miranda Sloan asked the class. She was only 35 and hadn’t been teaching that long. She did have what the principal called some new-fangled ways of teaching, but her students seemed to like her well; that was what it seemed. She had asked the students this question to show them that no one gender had it easy under the school's uniform policy; it was tough for them in different ways, which some of them may not have initially thought about. She had been teaching them for a few months now, and she hoped that some of what she had taught them had gotten through to them.
“The Girls have Ms. Sloan,” said Joss, a junior with a fair complexion and long, dark hair that reached her shoulders.
“No way it’s the boys who have it harder,” Tom said, dressed in the boys’ school uniform of a white long-sleeved collared shirt, a dark burgundy tie, dark trousers,
So much for them picking up anything that had been said so far this year, Ms. Sloan thought to herself as she watched the class degenerate into the usual argument.
“Okay, Okay. That is enough now.” Ms. Sloan said in an attempt to regain control of the class.
The kids slowly stopped their discussion, with neither side agreeing that the other was right.
“Can anyone think of a way to find out who is right and who is wrong without raising voices this time?” Ms Sloan asked.
She took a look around the room to see Steven, one of her quieter students, raise his hand.
“Yes, Steven?” Ms. Sloan asked
“I think that only way we would know for sure which uniform was the better for some kind of swap,” Steve replied quietly.
“What do you mean, Steven?” Ms Sloan asked the shy boy.
“Well, for a full day at school, a boy would wear the girls’ uniform and a girl to wear the boys’,” Steve replied, wishing that he had never opened his mouth.
“Interesting,” Ms Sloan replied, genuinely interested in what the young boy had said.
“The principal would never allow it.” Tina, one of the girls at the back of the room, said.
“No boy would ever agree to it,” a girl near the window said.
Ms. Sloan sensed a chance to try an experiment. She remembered her lecturer at university who said the best way to teach anyone is to make it interesting.
“If it were possible to run Steven’s experiment, who would take part in it?” Ms Sloan asked. Just as she thought would happen, no one put their hands up. Almost as if it were fated, there was a knock on the classroom door.
“One moment.” Ms Sloan said as she went to open the classroom door.
“Ms. Sloan, how is everything this afternoon?” Mrs Joan Fitzpatrick, the school principal on one of her surprise visits. It wasn’t that Mrs Fitzpatrick didn’t think that Ms. Sloan could do her job; it was just that she liked to keep her hand in and often pulled these types of visits on all her teachers every now and again.
Miranda Sloan saw an opportunity to see if she could run Steven's experiment and maybe, just maybe, write a paper about it. She was a new teacher and still wanted to find some way of making her mark on the teaching world.
“Ah, Mrs Fitzpatrick, perfect timing. We were discussing the school uniform policy, and one of my students came up with an idea of an experiment we could run to see which gender the policy is stricter on.” Miranda explained to her boss, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. This was her chance, not just for a paper, but to truly engage these students.
Mrs. Joan Fitzpatrick, a woman whose stern grey bob and tailored blazer spoke volumes of her no-nonsense approach, arched an eyebrow. “An experiment, Ms. Sloan? On school uniform policy? What exactly does that entail?” Her voice was measured, betraying a hint of nerves she had. She valued innovation, but only when it aligned perfectly with the established order.
Miranda brightened, seeing a crack in the principal’s reserve. “Steven, would you mind sharing your idea with Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” She gestured to the quiet boy, whose face immediately flushed crimson.
Steven, emboldened slightly by Ms. Sloan’s confidence, cleared his throat. “Well, Miss… Mrs. Fitzpatrick… I thought… that maybe, to truly understand which uniform was harder, a boy could wear the girls’ uniform, and a girl could wear the boys’ uniform, for a day, or possibly longer.” His voice trailed off, anticipating the principal’s immediate dismissal.
To his surprise, Mrs. Fitzpatrick didn’t immediately dismiss it. She pursed her lips, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Her eyes, however, were still fixed on Ms. Sloan. “And what exactly would be the educational objective of such a… swap, Ms. Sloan? Beyond, I presume, the obvious novelty?”
“The objective, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Miranda began, stepping forward, her passion evident, “is to illuminate the social constructions of gender, the implicit biases within our systems, and to foster empathy and understanding. Our students are locked in a debate about which gender ‘has it harder’ under the uniform policy. This isn’t about proving one right over the other definitively, but about experiencing, firsthand, the lived reality of the other. It’s about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. It would allow them to chronicle their experiences and truly reflect on the arbitrary and often restrictive nature of gendered expectations. Imagine the insights they could gain into comfort, practicality, social perception, and even subtle forms of discrimination.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick tapped her finger against her chin. “Discrimination… Fascinating. And highly sensitive. We’d be treading on very delicate ground, Ms. Sloan. Parental consent would be needed. The integrity of student well-being would be non-negotiable. And the potential for… disruption… would be considerable.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over the expectant faces of the students, some exchanging excited glances, others looking utterly bewildered. “Not to mention the precedent this might set.”
“Precisely why it would be an isolated, highly controlled experiment, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Miranda countered smoothly. “Volunteers only, of course. For at least one week, with the possibility of extending it if agreed to allow for a comprehensive experience. They would keep daily journals, noting observations, feelings, and social interactions. It would be a unique research project within the Gender Studies curriculum, perhaps even a pioneering one for the school. Imagine the positive press, the academic recognition for our innovative teaching methods. This could be more than just a class project; it could be a small, but significant, contribution to our understanding of gender roles in educational environments.” Miranda knew how to appeal to the principal’s academic pride and her concern for the school’s image.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s frown softened, replaced by a glint in her eyes that suggested she was beginning to see the potential, not just the pitfalls. “A pioneering research project, you say? She looked directly at Miranda. “Who are you, Volunteers?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Miranda replied.
“Yes, let's,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said.
“So who would like to take part in this pioneering research project?” Miranda asked her class and got the reply she expected when no one put their hand up.
“It looks like your project will remain theoretical for the time being.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said as she turned to walk out of the room
“I will, Miss. I’ll wear the boys’ uniform.” There was a glint in her eye as Joss looked directly at Tom, a daring challenge in her gaze. Your move, smart-aleck.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick stopped her journey to the door and looked back at the assembled students.
Tom, caught in Joss’s stare, felt a flush creep up his neck. He had been so vocal about the boys having it harder. To back down now would be a public humiliation. He imagined the taunts, the whispers. He swallowed hard, then, slowly, reluctantly, his hand lifted.
“I… I’ll do it too, Miss. I’ll wear the girls’ uniform.” The words felt strange, foreign on his tongue.
“It looks like you have your Volunteers, Ms. Sloan.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said as she looked directly and Miranda.
“Indeed, it does, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Indeed, it does.” Miranda said with a smile that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried.
“Ms. Ellis, Mr McLaughlin, please accompany Ms. Sloan to my office at the end of the lesson so that we can sort out the details of the research project. You will also be able to pick the consent slips for your parents to sign before we can go ahead.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick informed the two Volunteers as she finally left the room.
