My high school refused to print my picture in the yearbook because my A-cups were demanding too much attention.

“I can see your cleavage all the way across the court.” That’s what my female Bible teacher told me when I was just 15.

I was the new kid at a private Christian school. What could I say? I was embarrassed, ashamed, and yet part of me flattered that my newly sprouted A-cups had garnered some attention. The reprimand would be the first of many I would receive.

Ironically, it was that same teacher who bent her ear toward me months later when I complained about one of the school’s sexist double standards. It was the annual co-ed Bible camp and everyone was excited—mostly because we got to camp out in cabins in the woods and stay up late talking. But before we left we were given clear instructions on what to bring to wear during co-ed swim time—an anxious event for many concerned parents and faculty.

The boys simply had to wear bottoms. But for the girls? Long shorts and loose T-shirts. Totally unfair. It wasn’t just that I felt slighted by the fact that this was some sexist bullshit, it was also incredibly uncomfortable and gross to swim in a big cotton tee and shorts.

But what bothered me most was the insinuation that the girls, myself included, were not lusters but only lustees (and thus temptation) for our male classmates. I remember telling my teacher that I, in fact, was “tempted” by a particular classmate’s cut lines and bulging arms, trying to make her see that I too was a lustful being.

To my surprise, Ms. Cleavage Enforcement agreed with my assessment. She confided in me that years earlier she had fought the school to receive the same pay as her male counterparts who were automatically considered the “breadwinners.” Whether or not she took our shared opinion to the higher-ups I’ll never know. What I do know is that year at Bible camp I wore long shorts and a spongy cotton tee in the pool next to my skimpily-clad brothers in Christ.

But the spiritual battle wasn’t over.

Before graduating, it was my and a handful of other girls’ occasionally appearing midriffs and low-slung jeans that brought in a head-to-toe dress code for future generations. I was called into the principal’s office multiple times for the crime of bending over in class to pick something up and revealing a flash of skin—nevermind the boys’ sagging jeans and boxers or their sweat-inducing shirtless basketball practices. The school even refused to print my high school picture in the yearbook because my A-cups were, again, demanding too much attention. Seriously, there was only shadow.

What this experience taught me was that, ultimately, my worth was contingent on my body and sexuality. It further reinforced what “the world” (aka mainstream society/culture) was telling me about being an object of desire rather than a person who desired.

While my experience is probably more extreme than the average American girl’s, the culture of modesty and shame is alive and well in our schools and beyond.

So when I hear a male Montana State legislator wishing he could banish sinful yoga pants from the Big Sky country, I do a serious facepalm. When I hear old white dudes wringing their hands about Beyonce’s sexuality, or learn that as recently as Princess Diana, female royalty in England had to undergo virginity tests, or read official crap like this from the United Pentecostal Churches about “arousing improper thoughts,” I wonder what “modesty” is all about if not regulating the female body and our behavior.

Jessica Schreindl is a freelance writer and TV producer in Seattle, Washington. She is a contributing writer for Mic.com and has been published on Feministing.com. She graduated with her M.A. from Syracuse University where she studied film history and documentary filmmaking.

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