When Did We Stop Caring?

And Why Should We?

I recently met with a financial advisor who was clearly sick. He came in casual clothes, wearing a mask, his breathing a little rattled. I noticed it, but it didn’t bother me. If anything, I was grateful he didn’t cancel. Then he apologized for his appearance.

That’s what struck me. Not that he was dressed down because he was unwell, that was reasonable. What hit me was how completely unbothered I was by the drop in “professional” standards. His apology revealed something I hadn’t named: my expectations have quietly adjusted downward over the years, without my permission. And I suspect I’m not alone.

We’ve lost a word: “appropriate”

Society has been teaching people that appearance doesn’t matter. Or that caring about how you present yourself is automatically superficial, oppressive, or vain. The new virtue is comfort, and the new right is “I can wear whatever I want, wherever I want.”

Pajamas in public. Gym clothes as a daily uniform. Shorts and flip-flops for situations that used to call for a little effort. Not because people are working in the yard or running to the hardware store, there are places where practical clothing makes perfect sense, but because we’ve flattened life into one continuous casual moment.

And what we’ve lost isn’t fashion. It’s the concept of occasion. The understanding that different settings ask different things of us. The ability to say, without cruelty or snobbery: “This matters. So I’ll show that it matters.”

The missing word is appropriate, appropriate to one’s means, and appropriate to the moment.

“People can’t afford it” isn’t the whole story

Some will argue this is all class-based rhetoric, that people simply can’t afford to dress well. That can be true in individual cases, and Christians should be the last people to sneer at poverty. But it’s not the whole story.

A neat button-down and clean slacks can be found at a thrift store. Many shelters and community organizations provide clothing specifically to help people present well for work and interviews. “Dressing better” does not mean “dressing expensive.” It means clean, intentional, respectful, and suited to the moment.

The real shift isn’t financial. It’s cultural: we’ve been trained to treat effort as optional, standards as judgmental, and formality as fake.

The wealthy still believe in standards, when it benefits them

Here’s what exposes the lie: standards haven’t vanished. They’ve migrated, reserved for places that can afford to enforce them, and used (whether intentionally or not) to signal who belongs.

When the setting is truly “high value,” dress codes return immediately; private clubs, high-end restaurants, exclusive events, red carpets. These spaces still understand that presentation communicates respect, belonging, and seriousness.

Take Watch Hill, Rhode Island, where Taylor Swift owns a home. Nearby, a hotel enforces a “resort chic” dress code across the property. In plain terms, it’s upscale casual: clean, well-fitted, and intentionally put together. Think collared shirts, linen, a light jacket and boat shoes; or sundresses and proper sandals, not flip-flops. Gym wear, pajamas, and sloppy hoodies are out. It isn’t formal wear. It’s simply the message: you may be on vacation, but you still respect the place.

And isn’t it interesting? The moment a space becomes expensive enough, the rules reappear, not because clothing has magical power, but because everyone quietly knows what clothing signals.

What clothing signals (whether we admit it or not)

How we dress says something, sometimes about us, sometimes about what we believe about the world around us:

• Self-respect: “I believe my life has dignity.”

• Respect for others: “You’re worth showing up for.”

• Respect for the moment: “This is not the same as everything else.”

• Readiness: “I’m prepared to encounter something meaningful.”

In the early 20th century, people routinely wore suits and dresses to travel, to town, to a station, to dinner, because public life was treated as public. You didn’t know who you might meet. More importantly, you assumed you might meet someone who deserved your best.

Today, we dress the same everywhere because we treat everywhere the same.

Church is where “appropriate” should matter most

A Catholic doesn’t dress well for Mass because God is impressed by fabric. God isn’t fooled by costume. But we dress with care because worship is real, and reverence is embodied.

Catholicism has never been a “brain-only” religion. We kneel. We fast. We stand. We bless ourselves. We use incense, bells, candles, vestments, sacred vessels, because the body participates in worship. External actions shape internal reality.

So yes, there’s something disorienting about treating Mass like another errand.

You see it in little things: kids arriving in sports uniforms because there’s a game right after. Adults dressed for the beach, or the gym, or the next activity. Again, no one should be shamed. Families juggle real schedules. But it does raise a sincere question:

If we dress “up” when we’re about to meet someone important, an employer, a celebrity, a wealthy relative, someone we want to impress, what does it say when we won’t do the same for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass?

Vanity isn’t the same as dignity

Some people will say, “This is all vanity.” Not necessarily.

Vanity is dressing to be admired. Dignity is dressing to be appropriate, to honor the reality you’re entering. In fact, there’s an uncomfortable truth here: our selective effort is what reveals vanity. If I only polish myself when the right people will see me, if appearance matters only when I might benefit, then yes, that’s vanity.

But if I cultivate a habit of presenting myself respectfully as a norm, especially in worship, in public, in community, then my clothing becomes less about attention and more about order. It becomes a form of discipline: I am not ruled by sloppiness. I am not ruled by appetite. I am not ruled by the lowest available standard.

You could even argue that modest, consistent effort protects us from vanity, because it stops clothing from being a special weapon used for social advantage.

Try this experiment

If you think this entire line of thinking is ridiculous, test it.

On a Sunday, dress in a suit, or for women, a genuinely nice dress, and go to the grocery store. Not for show. Just go. Someone will comment. A cashier, a shopper, a stranger. They’ll ask where you’re going or where you came from. They may assume Church, and they’ll likely be surprised regardless.

That surprise proves the point: we’ve normalized casualness so thoroughly that simple formality now looks like an event.

Raising the bar without shaming anyone

This isn’t a call for strict dress codes or social policing. It’s a call for personal leadership.

We don’t have to shame people. We don’t have to glare at families with restless kids or make assumptions about anyone’s finances. Charity forbids that. But charity also allows us to model something better. If we start dressing more appropriately, more thoughtfully, something subtle happens:

• We carry ourselves differently.

• We behave differently.

• We speak differently.

• We treat others differently.

• We treat places differently.

And others notice. Not always with admiration. Sometimes with discomfort. But sometimes it makes people pause and think: What do I communicate by how I present myself? What message am I sending to the world? To my family? To God?

A simple standard

Here’s a standard that doesn’t require wealth, obsession, or theatrics: Dress the best (not the most expensive) you reasonably can for the situation you’re entering.

Clean. Neat. Intentional. Appropriate.

Because the world is starving for signs of respect. And the Christian, of all people, should understand why: every person you meet bears the image of God. Every public encounter is an opportunity to affirm human dignity, not through flashy brands, but through a quiet seriousness that says:

You matter. This moment matters. And I didn’t come here careless.

I believe God sees that, not because He’s checking labels or hemlines, but because He knows the difference between a life drifting and a life ordered toward reverence.

Maybe we’ve lowered the bar long enough.

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