Justin Timberlake is right about one thing, there is such a thing as a "wardrobe malfunction."
As I've considered my personal history of wearing clothes, which pretty much started a few minutes after my birth, I can recall a few "wardrobe malfunctions" in my lifetime.
None of them happened during a halftime appearance at the Super Bowl, but I've come to believe that such slips, if you will, can be even more humiliating on the smaller stage.
Take Lisa Filkoski's birthday party when I was in third grade. How was I supposed to know that Twister was a full-contact sport? How was I supposed to know that my mail-order pants wouldn't withstand the rigor of right-hand green, left-hand red, left-leg yellow and right-leg blue? I split my pants in front of 11 giggling girls. That "wardrobe malfunction" was the talk of my elementary school for most of third grade until John Zimmerman threw up in our brand new social studies books. I've been grateful to him ever since.
I had another "wardrobe malfunction" while attending a Jazz game at the old Salt Palace. I was a little bit pregnant and in a whole lot of denial that I needed to invest in some maternity clothes. Through some fluke, my husband and I had seats on the second or third row. I don't remember who the Jazz were playing but it was an important game and a very close one to boot. I remember jumping up at one point to cheer a critical three-point basket. Not only did the button come off my khaki pants, the zipper broke, er "malfunctioned."
I had to figure out on the fly (well, without the benefit of a fly, actually) how to walk out of Salt Palace without my pants falling to my ankles. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and literally held up my trousers until we got to the car.
That, Justin Timberlake, is a bona fide "wardrobe malfunction."
Everyone has tales of broken and unzipped zippers, strategically placed buttons that popped off seconds before a big meeting with the boss, runs in pantyhose, broken heels on shoes and my personal favorite, spilled food.
The term "wardrobe malfunction" sounds as if it was dubbed by Justin's handlers or his lawyers. Ripping off Janet Jackson's black leather bustier knowing full well that the cameras were rolling isn't exactly the stuff of malfunction. It's a carefully orchestrated stunt, although Justin says he was expecting to see red lingerie underneath, not body metal. As if that's supposed to make us feel better.
The difference is that most people's "wardrobe malfunctions" are innocent mishaps that cause great embarrassment or shame.
Remember first daughter Jenna Bush's mishap on the dance floor with her father during the 2001 Inaugural Ball? Her strapless gown plunged further than intended.
Then there was Meredith Vieira, co-host of "The View," who tumbled out of her top while doing a segment on prom dresses.
Vieira's currency is her intellect and her wit. She happens to be a very attractive woman as well, but she would never resort to MTV tactics to get along in the world.
I must confess that I didn't see the Timberlake-Jackson halftime debacle live. Like most of you, I've seen it replayed ad nauseam.
It's clear what Jackson intended. It's sad that so many young performers reduce themselves to such pathetic antics to sell a few more records or movie tickets. It makes me wonder how we, as a society, got to this place.
Think about how much standards have changed in one generation of television viewers. When I was a kid, Rob and Laura and Ricky and Lucy each had their own bed. And they were portraying married couples. It was considered cutting edge to show a pregnant woman on television.
Now we've got a woman intentionally baring her breast on one of the most-watched television events of the year, the Super Bowl.
And I wonder, what ever happened to shame? Instead of being mortified, Jackson issued feeble apologies about going too far with the stunt. The problem, Janet, wasn't going too far. It was staging the "wardrobe malfunction" in the first place.
Marjorie Cortez is a Deseret Morning News editorial writer. E-mail her at marjorie@desnews.com.