Earlier this week I had an epiphany while wearing a shirt that read Merry Christmas ya filthy animal.

It had nothing to do with McCauley Calkin or whether fleeing the country and leaving a child to face to criminals could potentially result in an episode of Law and Order: SVU – it was about active wear. The sudden and life changing realisation? It’s a thing.

The shirt in question was one I’d picked from the top of my “old shirt” pile, as all the other free/cheap/wouldn’t wear them in public under normal circumstances shirts that are rotation for gym wear were dirty. Yes, it was a shirt that can usually only be worn when Jesus’ birthday approaches, but it also was just the right length to cover my moving torso. It also was hilarious. But I found myself wondering if it was appropriate to wear to the gym. And that’s when this whole thing (i.e. this unnecessarily long rant) dawned on me.

As someone who once wore sequinned sleeves with riding boots to work, I’ve always been a denier of dress codes. Just because those shorts were bought from a specialised sleepwear shop, doesn’t mean you can’t wear them into the city. Just because your entire outfit cost less than the sandwich you ate for lunch, doesn’t mean it’s not suitable to wear to court. I could go on, but for the interests of wrapping up my rant in time to watch both Sister Acts before bedtime, I’ll leave it there.

The point I’m trying to make is that there is a dress code for the gym now., and I am disgruntled by it (another thing to add to the running list of Things that are vaguely irritating but become major life issues due to overthinking – it goes right under the sultan to bran ratio in cereals) There are sections in department stores, and hey, entire shops dedicated to this tight, flouro clothing which announces to the world that the wearer is either about to, or has just finished, moving their body in a vigorous and/or strenuous manner. If you look around a gym today, everyone seems well-dressed. There aren’t any more shirts that are too big to reveal the contours of your chest, but too small to give you the “wearing the man’s shirt the morning after look”. The old pair of track pants with holes in them are gone. And the faded sloppy joes from school are nowhere to be seen. Everyone looks like a paraody of the Oz Fitness girls, but nobody’s joking.

I don’t understand when tank tops that have cuts outs to prove to the world that you have on sensible underwear that adequately supports your mammary glands when you’re engaged in physical activity became a requirement for exercising. I mean, it’s great that your breasts won’t stretch to the point of being able to be tied behind your back, but that’s more of a personal victory – it’s not something you have to broadcast to the point of cutting out two dinner-plate-sized holes from the back of your singlet top so the person behind you knows you have appropriate support.

And when did it become necessary for people to exercise in leggings? People are actually altering their underwear so they can continue wearing these opinion-dividing pants (oh yeah, I just called leggings pants because technically they are – they aren’t trousers or slacks, but they are a type of pant. You apparently can’t wear briefs under those bad boys, because they are so tight a knicker outline is visible. So people are wearing g-strings with their leggings. How do I know this? Being a constant near-the-back- loiterer in a class that has many, many squats puts you in a uniquely judgemental position. I can’t tell you how many middle-aged-arses I’ve seen due to the elasticity of legging material, which incidentally, becomes somewhat translucent when stretched. Call me an underwear Nazi, but wearing g-string to the gym is kind of ridiculous. Because having a thin strap of polyester separating your butt cheeks underneath hyper-compressing polyester while your arse sweats sounds like a thrush pie in the making. You’re going there to improve your body, not give yourself a yeast infection.

I’m not bagging out the Lorna Jane addicts (although I am judging the fuck out of that inspirational slogan). I’m not saying that we live in a conformist society. I’m not even saying people like to publicise that they exercise to impress people. I’m just asking: where are all the other bags of shit at?

As someone who still wears their severely-frayed college ruggers from five years ago with free t shirts and occasionally novelty socks, I’m starting to become an outcast.

The gym is a sacred space where you can smell like a second hand gorilla’s armpit and be coated in a thick mist of bodily fluids while making orgasm faces less than a metre away from a complete stranger. It’s a beautiful thing. And surely a place in which you feel comfortable enough to thrust your butt out into the air without trying to look sexually appealing is a place where you can wear that gravy-stained t-shirt with the hole in it.

As powerful as you might look in those booty pants, don’t be afraid to look like a slob. Let your dressed-like-a-bag-of-shit-flag fly people!