Sometimes, Kathryn Janeway liked to wear a dress.
In her professional life, it was all pants and business, equal-to-a-man, don't-call-me-ma'am authority. But secretly she sometimes longed for the mini-skirted days of earlier centuries. Of course, she preferred longer skirts, if possible. Something about the fabric swishing around her ankles made her feel like a heroine in an old Victorian novel.
It was one of the best things about her time on New Earth. She wore dresses every day, no regard for command and protocol. She let her hair down from its tight bun and freed herself from the expectations of others. Because even way out in the Delta Quadrant, free from the prying stares of male admirals, she felt as if she could still feel their eyes on her, every minute, judging her every move. They were just waiting, she felt, to deem her unworthy. Weak.
There was a qualifier that had followed her around since her Academy days. The qualifier was "for a woman". The professors that had praised her always put that qualifier on the end, as if her genitalia changed matters. "She's an excellent scientist – for a woman." "She'll make a fine Captain – for a woman." It was the main reason she asked her crew to call her Captain, instead of sir or ma'am. It didn't carry the weighty expectations of gender with it. She didn't want her crew's perception of her to be colored by such things. It was simply her title, an indisputable fact.
Only Chakotay knew she loved to wear dresses, and that was only because of New Earth. It was her dirty little secret, one she never revealed for fear of falling back into those stereotypes she had tried her hardest to break. But at the end of a long day, she slipped into a silky nightgown and wiggled her legs, reveling in the freedom. To Kathryn Janeway, dresses represented a basic freedom – the freedom to be herself.
