Unisex Scrubs - One size fits none
As a chick, I have purchased several formal gowns, including two (yes, two) wedding dresses. By no means am I some perfect physical specimen, whose body is worthy of worship for the ages, but by some sheer coincidence, my measurements have apparently made the rounds and every dressmaker in the universe has resolved to build their eveningwear to my exact dimensions. This baffling twist of fate has saved me countless hours of dress-fittings and probably over a thousand bucks in alteration fees. This being said, I considered myself extremely fortunate in the clothing department-up until I was introduced to the evil, evil reality of unisex scrubs.
First off, let me state that scrubs are a beautiful thing. It is like wearing pajamas to work every day. They require ZERO fashion sense. They are comfy as hell and no one cares if they are hopelessly wrinkled. (Heck the more wrinkled the better! It makes the public think you’ve been working tirelessly for days!) The only thing that would be more awesome to wear to work than scrubs would be real pajamas or yoga pants. (But wearing pajamas in public makes you look like a lunatic or the poster-child for PeopleofWalmart.com. Inversely, when wearing scrubs in public, complete strangers will laud you for being part of the heroic, life-saving, medical community.) So hooray for scrubs! Right?
Wrong.
Unisex scrubs, while admittedly still far superior to other career clothing options, are evil. They come in sizes from extra-small to XXXXX-Large and yet they fit no one. (And 5XL is totally a real size. A friend and I once took a pair and each climbed into one of the legs. I wish I were kidding.)
Getting into them was funny. Getting back OUT...not so much.
Unisex scrubs are sewn exclusively by a company whose employees have severe spatial-relations issues and (judging by their inability to measure or sew a straight line) most likely failed Home Ec in high school. I’ve also determined that industrially-produced scrub patterns were written by reject designers from Ikea (and all of them are written solely in Swedish.) If by some act of God, both legs are the same length, the legs will still either be way too short or way too long. If they fit your waist, they don’t fit your butt. The neck hole is somehow almost too tiny to fit your head through, but when you get it on, it’s large enough to show an almost indecent amount of cleavage. And despite every pair coming from the same manufacturer, the medium you wore today (with the crotch that hung down to your knees and the string you could wrap around your waist twice) will be nothing like the hip-hugging, low-rise medium you put on tomorrow.
Someone attempted to explain the “one size fits none” phenomenon by claiming unisex scrubs were built to fit men and us gals just got the short end of the stick. I was inclined to believe her until I looked around and noticed the number of tall docs in high-water scrub pants and male nurses sporting enough visible chest hair to make me check Google to confirm whether or not a full-moon was set to rise that evening.
I see only a handful of potential solutions to the scourge that is “ill-fitting OR attire.”
Lobby scrub manufacturers to provide vision care and sewing lessons to their employees
Donate unused rulers from surgical packs to scrub manufacturers (since they obviously don’t have rulers to accurately measure fabric dimensions currently.)
Provide onsite scrub tailoring in the OR locker room.
Or most sensibly…switch to Male and Female scrubs (you know, clothes that are actually designed to fit someone…anyone)
I pray that one day I will be able to go to work, get dressed and not have to wonder whether my clothing has been produced by far-sighted, textile-challenged morons or if I am just horribly misshapen. It is a useless fantasy, but hey, a girl can dream.
