Candidates' strong suit shouldn't be clothes

Nancy Grape served for 16
years as an editorial writer
and member of the editorial
board for the Portland
Press Herald and Maine
Sunday Telegram. Her column
commenting on state
and national affairs for the
Telegram ran for 25 years.

In the weeks since
the Nov. 4 election,
Alaska Gov. Sarah
Palin, has been quick
to criticize the media
for promoting a double
standard in her Republican
campaign for vice
president. It started,
she contends, with the
clothes on her back.
Nobody, Palin complains,
checked out
the clothing labels on
her rival, Joe Biden,
the Democratic vice
presidential candidate
from Delaware.
Nobody cared what
brand of shirts Sen.
John McCain, R-Ariz.,
her running mate, was
wearing.

As for President-elect
Barack Obama, Palin
implies, voters have
been content to believe,
whatever the brand of
his shoes, he can walk
on water.

So why, in this era of
new beginnings, was
the fashion spotlight
turned so harshly on
her? Why was it news
what she wore, when
she wore it and who
had picked up the tab?
And why was it non-news
when it came to
the suits, blazers and
ties worn by top males
on the trail?

No question, in a
political campaign,
packaging matters, and
so does who pays for
it. But it doesn't matter
more than the public
issues at stake.

The other day I spoke
by phone with Elizabeth
Mitchell, D-Vassalboro,
new president of
the Maine Senate and
a former speaker of the
Maine House, making
her the first woman
to hold both presiding
posts in Maine's legislative
branch.

At the time I called,
Mitchell didn't have
much time to savor her
legislative achievement.
She was hard at work
at the State House organizing
the new Senate.

The electric hum
of activity zinged down
the wire, so I didn't
waste any time on
preliminaries. Besides, I
knew after question one
I'd have her attention.
What are you wearing?
I asked.

What am I what?
she responded, with
rich peals of laughter.
What am I wearing?
You mean like right
now?

Well, she went on,
At this moment I am
wearing an orange jacket,
brown slacks and a paisley-
type shirt with brown
and orange.

Then the laughter reasserted
itself. I must say
nobody's ever asked me
that before.

Good! I said. What
you're wearing isn't really
any of my business.
That's the point, Mitchell
declared, still cordial.
It's absurd.

But for Libby Mitchell, as
for Sarah Palin, it hasn't
always been that way. And
our brief exchange triggered
memories.

When I first became
Speaker of the House in
Maine, Mitchell said,
that was the question I
was getting from every
direction: What will you
be wearing?'

The query wasn't idle
gossip. Nor was it an attempt
to unearth a need
for campaign finance
reform. The question
arose because previous
House speakers, all men,
traditionally wore formal
morning coats to the
podium. Mitchell had no
intention of aping them.
But she did want feminine
clothing that matched
them in dignity.

I shopped and found
a nice black sheath from
Talbot's, she told me.
Still, she muses now,
At the time, nobody ever
wondered what Mark
(incoming Senate President
Mark Lawrence) was
wearing.

So will the double
standard, in play then and
in play during the recent
presidential campaign,
fade anytime soon? Will it
someday even dry up and
go away?

I'm afraid not in my
lifetime, Mitchell said
thoughtfully. Even from
my vantage point, it's still
quite difficult. You still
have to deal with some issues.
I look at my daughters
and granddaughters,
who think this is all so
ridiculous. And my sons
I think we have to teach
our sons too.

The main lesson to
be taught, of course, is
that voters need to know
what's inside not atop
a candidate's head,
provided no campaign fi-
nance laws are being bent
or broken.

None of the designer
labels in Palin's alleged
$150,000 clothing haul had
much to do with the job
Palin was contending to
fill. Neither do the orange
jacket, brown slacks and
paisley shirt that Mitchell
was wearing behind the
scenes on the day I called
her affect how she will
lead the Maine Senate.
These are serious jobs
for serious people regardless
of their gender or
the labels on their clothes.