Does It Matter If Sunglasses Are Womens?

Six dollars at the church thrift store downtown, wedged in the bin labeled “accessories, $1 unless tagged.” These ones were tagged, six bucks, cat eye frames, tortoiseshell, twenty years old but cut a ridiculous angle across the bridge, square blocks that definitely did not go with my face. Square block men have walked around, probably wearing these exact frames, but not me, not today. So still, I tried them on because you do that. And my friend Danny on camera crew glanced over at me sitting against the wall of the warehouse and goes “those are girls’ glasses, man.” Fair question, not trying to insult me or anything. Just wondering aloud when I was going to notice what should have been glaringly obvious. Guess what, Danny?

You’re wrong. I wore them anyway.

I put them on the next day at work, climbing around in a crawl space pulling cable where nobody would see me anyway, and then wore them to a cookout that weekend too, and no one said anything except for my mom when I got back that they were “interesting” and let’s be honest mom, that’s an insult.

The real scandal is that somebody gave these shapes gender assignments somewhere along the production line in the last sixty years and now everyone after that point just nods along and treats that decision like it’s permanent.

The Myth of Gendered Sunglasses

The unspoken truth nobody wants to acknowledge:

Sunglasses are not gendered the way, say, a dress shirt tailored for male and female bodies is gendered. Dress shirts come in male and female cuts because they actually have different seam lines and proportions based on average measurements of each body type. That’s tangible, objective data informing the manufacturing process. Sunglasses have no such baseline. There is no “female face” that requires wider, thinner, or maybe higher frames than a “male face.” Once you move past subjective aesthetics—hello cat eye—frames are completely genderless. When you choose to buy the “men’s” or “women’s” version, you’re just buying into a marketing scheme instead of asking for what’s structurally suitable for you.

Pretending that aviators and square frames are only for men or that lady loves kittens and pink frames only match with women’s faces prevents folks from finding the styles that actually work for them.

I price-checked this theory the way I price-check everything—I had to, that’s my deal with myself—I refuse to purchase anything unless the math works out on paper first and let the aesthetics argue with me later. Sunglass frames themselves are priced roughly the same regardless of gendered designation—at least where I shop—so those six dollars were six dollars either way. Lens quality is also consistent between so-called men’s and women’s frames if the tags are marked polarized and UV400. You know what else doesn’t discriminate based on which bin you find it? Gray lenses that say_transition to black in bright light ._transition. That coating doesn’t care if you picked it out of a man buckle or an oval frame with pretty flowers printed on the glass.

The only difference between brands’ ideas of mens and womens sunglasses, when you’re paying the same price for both, is nearly always frame width and lens size. Spoiler: there’s no rule about only men wearing wides or only women wearing scripts. Not even close. My face falls into that “wide” category. A lot of women’s frames are wide because women’s faces come in wide. Plenty of my faces fit into those supposedly ladies-only bins just fine.

You’re not going against biology by wearing a frame considered too wide or too narrow or straight or curved or whatever for your “gender.” You’re just wearing a frame.

Here’s the thing that actually upset me. Once I stopped using gender as a deciding factor before trying stuff on, I found stuff I liked better more often. Like, significantly more often. Sticking to the “men’s sunglasses” section because all the floral patterns were on the other side cost me. I went from thinking one pair I tried was worthwhile for every five I tried on to easily finding one great pair for every two frames I tried. That’s better than flipping a coin. Pair of sunglasses aren’t cheap, even at thrift store prices, and when you’re buying as many as I do on average—that volume—half-off isn’t even enough savings to cover the pairs I skipped over just because they didn’t have guys on sticks holding them in the display.

Your Wallet Doesn’t Care What Gender Your Sunglasses Are

Let’s say I hated that pair of six-dollar cat eyes. Broke the lens after two weeks wearing them everywhere like I do. Or the hinge didn’t hold. Something. Six dollars worn twice equals you paid three dollars per wear. Ouch. I shouldn’t have bought them. That jumps right into the Do Not Purchase Again category.

But I loved those sunglasses. I have worn them fourteen months straight. Again, conservative estimate. Easily sixty or seventy times. Tops. That drops the cost per wear to under a dime. And I triple checked that math because the first time I was rounding and came out at four cents. I would have sold myself short at four cents. Even I wasn’t buying that these were the best sunglasses deal I’ve ever scored.

I’ve been repurchasing that pair off and on since.

Broke down and bought them in a second color because I loved them that much. Ten cents a wear for a pair of sunglasses some dude named Danny didn’t think I should be caught dead in is, frankly, one of the best buys I made all year.

If I had skipped over those glasses to grab something “more masculine” from the other bin, which I would have because letting Danny down got to me more than I wanted to admit at the time, I would have spent that six dollars on a pair that probably wouldn’t have fit my face half as well and felt great about buying “the right kind” of sunglasses for exactly as long as it took for someone to comment on how my sunglasses look like they’re about to fall off my face.

Caring about that label costs you options. Twice as many frames to try in most bins once you get past the first shelf.

It costs you money when you end up buying a pair that doesn’t fit just right because you rejected frames from the “other” gender’s section. And it costs you the good stuff.

The cool find. The perfect pair. That you’ll never know about because you ignored half your options before you started shopping.

I know, exciting story. You should care about subtitles more than whether your sunglasses have a dude cowboy at Ranchero Optical telling you they’ll fit your face. This is sunglasses, not a muscle shirt.

But shopping at thrift stores and discount stores and value pricing forces me to evaluate every single purchase like this. To actually pay attention to what fits and what doesn’t instead of what I’m told should fit based on one surface-level characteristic. Otherwise, I’m just dropping money based on how I feel that day instead of what I need.

And the only things that feel like that are actual fitted shirts.