In mid-September I wrote a column about “need hiding in plain sight.” The response was fascinating, for reasons I discussed on a recent episode of The Debrief, the community radio show and podcast I co-host with Jackie Augustine.
One recurring theme in feedback about need, especially housing, is personal accountability. There was a through-line in the critical response to that column about a food pantry seeing skyrocketing usage from people who didn’t need that support a few months ago: They made decisions that brought them there.
Ok, so what’s new, right? We’ve all heard that before. What fascinated me was the evidence people used to support that conclusion.
There were about 35 emails I’d put in the critical category. Not necessarily critical of the writing, but of the “why.” The explanations varied, but one was more common than the rest.
People are slobs and they just don’t care.
“Go into Walmart in Waterloo and you’ll see why there’s more people going to the food pantry,” one particularly frustrated reader wrote. He’s a frequent flyer in my inbox, and I’ve spoken with him in real life. “No one cares about anything anymore — including how they look. And it shows!”
Nearly all of those critical respondents mentioned how people dress, which seemed worth exploring in a follow-up.
Why have people become accustomed to wearing sweatpants, pajamas, or other seemingly inappropriate things into public spaces?
You could chalk it up to laziness. But most of us probably know people who are successful by conventional measures who don’t wear slacks, a suit, or anything constituting business casual.
I think part of what we’re talking about here is a form of “mirroring.”
People reflect the world around them. That includes how we dress, what we expect from one another, and whether we believe making an effort will actually accomplish anything.
The drabness people see in everyday clothing choices reflect a drabness they’ve accepted elsewhere. We recognize neglect when we look at a building or street. Put a person in that setting, though, and suddenly the explanation becomes a question of character.
There’s research supporting it. In a 2018 study in Philadelphia, researchers randomly assigned vacant lots to receive greening, trash cleanup, or no intervention. Residents near greened lots reported reductions in feelings of depression and worthlessness compared with those near untreated lots.
Improving the physical world around people changed how they felt. The neighborhood wasn’t just a backdrop.
That study didn’t examine anyone’s wardrobe. It doesn’t prove an abandoned property makes someone wear sweatpants to the grocery store. But even if it’s not an abandoned building — cookie cutter houses, apartments, and strip malls that are all varying shades of gray and tan do, at the same time, feel drab.
Point being, if surroundings can affect how we feel, and those feelings can influence how we dress, it seems reasonable to consider that some of what we’re seeing is a response to the world people live in.
Of course, some people just like comfortable clothes. The successful person in sweatpants gets that explanation pretty regularly. The person we suspect might need assistance gets a lecture about discipline.
Same pants. Different narrative.
That’s where this becomes relevant to the food pantry. We’ve taken something we can see about a stranger and used it to explain things we can’t. Their budget, work history, health, or whatever happened between the month they could afford groceries and the month they couldn’t anymore.
You can dislike someone’s outfit. But there’s an enormous distance between “I wouldn’t wear that to Walmart” and “That explains why this person can’t afford food.”
We cross that line way too casually.
In the original column, pantry volunteers described households choosing between groceries and other necessities. Under those circumstances, caring about what one wears to the store isn’t a priority. That shouldn’t be surprising. A stranger sees the pants, but never sees the mental gymnastics the person did that day, week, or month juggling bills, responsibilities, work, kids, and god knows what else.
Taking pride in our appearance should matter. There’s nothing unreasonable about wanting a community where people make an effort.
That expectation has to extend beyond the people pushing a shopping cart.
Maintaining shared places should be part of it. Properly planning a physical community that’s worth taking pride in should be part of it. Not just once every few years when comprehensive plans are discussed. Every day, every week, every month.
Property owners have a role, as does local government in the public spaces it controls. The rest of us have a role in how we treat our neighbors, especially when they’re struggling.
A repaired building won’t solve food insecurity. But the Philadelphia research shows that improving neglected surroundings can make a meaningful difference in people’s lives. That’s a useful place to direct some of this frustration.
Personal accountability still matters. Choices have consequences. But accountability requires enough information to know what someone is actually responsible for. Looking across an aisle at Walmart doesn’t give us that.
The pantry volunteers described a change in what families could afford. Many readers responded with a judgment about how people looked. Somewhere in between, the actual problem disappeared.
If we care enough to notice what our neighbors are wearing, we ought to care enough to find out why they’re hungry.
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