One of my favourite bloggers, Twisty from I Blame the Patriarchy, has semi-emerged from a posting hiatus to not-quite-blog about the utilikilt.

Utilikilts, it amuses me to report, are nothing but skirts. Big whoop, you say? Well, they have giant pockets and are marketed to straight, not necessarily Celtically-inclined men, two qualities not popularly tolerated in a garment universally imbued to the point of absurdity with sex-class-specificity. The masculinization of the girly accoutrement intrigues me.

I am not an habitué of Burning Man, so it came to pass that 48 long years elapsed before I laid eyes on my first Utilikilt. This event transpired 3 weeks ago. The minute I saw it — a heavy-duty twill with dudely brass snaps arranged so as to suggest a codpiece or possibly a WWF Heavyweight Champion belt, adorning a sensitive guy in a ponytail at the South Congress post office — I knew that I must possess one. I wanted to wear a skirt while simultaneously crossdressing. I will have my little sartorial joke.

Apparently Twisty had been working a longer post about the utilikilt for some time, but decided to ditched it. Nonetheless, her not-quite post is still deliciously readable, so head on over.