Since the dawn of time, men have wrestled with one important, weighty question. Even our caveman forebearers would roll off their sleeping rocks, stare at their collection of pelts, and wonder:
“What me wear to work today?”
This summer, I went on two very different reporting trips. One was to Austin, Texas, where I mostly hung out with conservative, Christian, stay-at-home PTA moms. Seemingly the only thing I, a 30-year-old lefty feminist from New York City, had in common with these women was the fact that we were married. One casual mention of my husband and they "got" me. In their eyes, I wasn’t slutty or career-obsessed; I was someone with whom they could relate.
