“If You’re Actually Playing Catwoman, then It Works for Me … Otherwise…”

I bet you know what’s coming.

Yes, indeed, at long last I’ve gotten around to commenting on the controversial decision to put Jeri Ryan and Jolene Blalock in catsuits so tight that, had they been male, their religious persuasions would have been evident—in my opinion, one of the more literally titillating [or should I say ‘tit and oscillating’] decisions in Star Trek costuming history.

What I've always found hypocritical about the catsuit argument is that its proponents invariably, conveniently ignore the issue of appropriate attire in the workplace in favor of some inane equation of constricting clothing with a liberating attitude—an “I am woman, hear me roar” position not borne out by the fact that they call it a cat-suit (as opposed to, say, a lion-suit) for a damned good reason.

Following me, my little mice? Meow.

Now I might give you ‘libertine,’ but ‘liberating’? Um ... no. Not for adults, at any rate.

Because, like it or not, it’s an incontrovertible fact that when a healthy bi- or heterosexual male sees a stunningly attractive woman wearing a form-flattering (or, in this case, ‘charm’-revealing) piece of clothing, his immediate thoughts, generally speaking, are not about her head for figures. They’re about her figure itself [and even I’m going to forego the other pun]. They’re not about the bent of her personality. They’re about her bending over a console, or even bending her over a console. And they’re certainly not about treating her as an equal. They’re about treating her to dinner, dancing and … well, I could go with a few different sets of ‘double D’s’ here, but will again demonstrate my unaccountable restraint instead.

Bill Frost of Las Vegas Weekly called Jeri Ryan's acting style “‘the camel toe method,’ a dramatic technique you'll never hear discussed on Inside the Actor's Studio.” Now, from where I sit, that comment is directed entirely too much at the woman (who is, in my opinion, actually quite a talented actress), and not the costume itself. But it’s apparent that such an [un]dress code lends itself to criticisms of that sort—whether valid or simply vicious.

Now I’m not what anyone would label a prude. Those who’ve seen my photo-manipulations of actress Moira Kelly as the Orion animal woman Vaerth Parihn can and will so attest. In none of those, however, is she prancing around on duty (or worse, on the bridge) in attire better suited to her former profession as a sometime showgirl/exotic dancer than her current one as a professional Starfleet officer.

“But, Joe … Seven wasn’t in Starfleet. She could wear whatever she liked.”

Not so, my permissive friends: Seven, as a civilian given security clearance and access to Voyager’s critical systems and areas, was thus subject to reasonable limits on her behavior … and, yes, her attire. Thus, a requirement to wear something that didn’t put her sexual characteristics on prominent display should have been enforced. This all started because the doctor was a dirty old hologram, and the captain clearly had a Victorian lesbian thing goin’ on.

That it was canon, however, doesn’t make it right … and don’t even get me started on the staid, hyper-conservative Vulcans not even arching a brow over T’Pol’s fashion choices.

A cat-suit is not appropriate in the 21st century professional workplace, for reasons that are apparent to anyone who’s ever attempted to do their job in the face of extreme distraction. How much more so, then, would they be forbidden to those who hold jobs greatly dependent on clear-thinking individuals who need to be examining their displays…

…and not the broad on display?