A Commentary on Sexism in Speech and Debate by Rachel Harris

By: Rachel Harris

I first appreciated speech and debate for its stringent structure; adults, especially adult men, who would normally dismiss me immediately had to listen to me talk for two, four, seven, or ten minutes. But I soon learned that, even if I was given the opportunity to speak, that didn’t equate to a chance to be heard. As I improved in the activity, disheartening ballot comments piled up: my heels were always the wrong height, my outfit unprofessional, my nails distracting. Worst of all were comments on the length or tightness of my clothes, which made me feel both objectified as a person and ignored as a debater. It didn’t matter how much I prepped or how hard I worked, the length of my skirt was always a prerequisite to being heard.

I know this issue may seem irrelevant to people in tech LD or policy where more casual attire is the norm. While this is probably a better standard, it is not without its biases. When I did tech debate, I was always double entered with speech, so I would go from rounds where I was held to impossibly high standards of professional wear to rounds in which I was judged for not wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. While casual wear is definitely less classist and more accepting, any sort of standards of attire just reinforce the notion that women’s physical appearances are a rankable issue in a round. 

What constitutes “professional attire” is rooted in underlying notions of who is and is not professional. While debate boys can certainly innovate on their suits (we’ve all seen the “fun socks” or sports jersey over a suit look), they also have the option to dress “professional neutral,” in a blue or black suit that will be completely ignored, letting judges and competitors focus solely on the content of their arguments. Women are not afforded this privilege. Being a woman in speech and debate means constantly walking the tightrope between femininity and success. If I don’t wear pantyhose and a skirt, judges dock my scores for not being “pretty enough.” If I wear pink or have a high voice, I’m “unprofessional.” In my six years of debating, my heel-height, outfit, and hairstyle received far more ballot comments than my speaking skills.

When I first began receiving negative feedback on my debate outfits, I tried to take judges’ advice to heart, turning myself into a model of perfect “speech girl” attire; I wore tailored skirt suits in navy blue and black to combine femininity and “seriousness,” I brought a flatiron to tournaments and straightened my hair in between rounds to avoid the slightest appearance of imperfection, and I wore a fake pearl necklace borrowed from my coach to complete the compulsively polished look. At the time, I didn’t see myself as buying into sexist norms; I thought I was minimizing disruptions. I figured if I could smooth my frizzy hair, shorten my threatening heels, and cover up my distracting body, judges would finally listen to what I had to say. 

This effort at faultlessness failed drastically; I began to receive speech ballots that said I looked “too speech-y,” “like a barbie doll,” and “not relatable enough.” The “relatability” explicitly valued in speech -- the idea that I needed to appear perfect but also “real” -- is implicitly valued in debate and beyond; it comes through in everything from how female debaters are perceived in cross to the judgements placed on female presidential candidates. Women are routinely criticized for every aspect of their appearance and persona, but, when we try to correct these perceived “errors,” we’re dismissed as phony and disingenuous. Our outfits, mannerisms, and over-politeness seem feigned because they are; I turned my external self into the definition of unobjectionable so judges would finally listen to me.

It seems pointlessly sad to go back and write about some of the most aggravating parts of my time in speech and debate without offering a solution, but, as unfortunate as it seems, I don’t think this is the forum for fixing the problem. I’m guessing the readers of this site are almost all female competitors, not the judges who comment on competitors’ attire. The problem, and the solution, lies with them, not y’all. 

The only advice I can offer you is from personal experience. The day I got the “Barbie Doll” comment, I almost quit speech. It was December of my senior year: I had been knocked out in oratory semis, and I felt like I had given years to an activity that was never going to give me the validation I sought. I left the tournament before awards and literally cried in the car on the way home, until a teammate called to tell me I had won extemp. This was the first time I had ever fully beaten the "boys club" of extemp in my district. That moment made me realize I was never going to convince judges to look past what I was wearing; my only option was to be good enough at speech that they would be forced to listen to me regardless.

I ended my time in high school speech and debate as a part of the first ever gender-balanced extemp NSDA final round. To congratulate me, a coach I didn’t know told me not to wear my blue suit on the stage because the skirt was too short. I wore it anyway, not out of some feminist protest, but because my only other skirt was shorter.