🍃 Fig Leaves: The Foundation of Fast Fashion

Reader,

So she took the fruit and she ate.
She gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate it too.

And then—reality hit.

Let’s sit with this scene.

The Awakening That Wasn’t

Their eyes were opened—but not to the wisdom and god-like state the serpent promised.
To the devastating realization that something sacred had shattered.
It appears that for the first time in their existence, they felt exposed.

It apparently wasn't just about existing in the world naked. They'd always been that.
But now they had a knowing about their nakedness in a way that felt dangerous.

Can you picture it?
Their hands shaking, hearts racing, creating protective barriers where none had ever been needed.
The very bodies that had been purely sources of joy and connection now felt like liabilities.

This could be a textbook trauma response—
rewriting our relationship with our own skin,
other people, our God, and our presence in the world.

Together, They Covered Themselves

And then they did something extraordinary:

So, revealing themselves to be entrepreneurial level problem solvers as they worked to cover up,
they turned fistfuls of fig leaves into clothing.

One perhaps to cover up the shame of her victimization and response to it.
One perhaps to cover up his complicity.

Different problems, same solution.

Despite the betrayal—despite the breakdown of trust—
they worked together, side by side, creating the world’s first fast fashion born of deception.

But here's what’s curious, too—
how did they know what parts to cover?

This was their first rodeo, yet somehow they instinctively knew that certain parts of themselves now required concealment.

How did they know the anatomy of their new reality?
Of guilt?
Shame?
Fear?

She Stayed

But here's what gets me most about this scene:
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Despite everything—
despite his silence during her victimization in the most diabolical con to ever unfold,
and despite the fact that her husband had been prepared to let her die and watch it happen—
she stays with him.

Think about this with me. She had other options.
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She could have run away from him.
She could have asked for an explanation.
She could have hidden alone.
She could have turned on him.
She could have cried out to God.

She had just eaten the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil.
She knew now what had been done to her.

She could have despised him.
She could have killed him.

She’d literally just been deceived by a serpent—
with her life at stake—
while her beloved stood there like a scarecrow—
except that he was less effective at scaring away wild animals—
and she’s still right there with him, Tammy Wynette-ing it up.
​
Both the victim and the predator’s enabler used the same survival strategy:
covering themselves up and hiding from someone they used to trust.

She displayed classic trauma bonding:
sticking next to and protecting the one who failed to protect her.
​
Shame is often the glue in these dynamics—
pulling people into silence, loyalty, and survival.
​
But for him, was it actually shame, I wonder?

He could have named what just happened.
He could have cried out to God.
He could have attacked or killed the serpent.
​

He could have turned to her—
eyes filled with horror—
and said, “I’m sorry.”

But instead, he just covered up—revealed nothing.
​
I don’t think it was shame. And I’m certain it wasn’t sorrow.
It was strategic self-preservation.

“Why didn’t she just leave?” I asked.
We still ask it of modern-day victims of abuse.

Well, it appears they are just following an ancient pattern that started in a garden awhile ago.

Then and now, I wonder—
​why are we more comfortable blaming the victimized than those doing the perpetrating and enabling?

Curiously,
Camille

ps. I’m hosting a free, live workshop on June 12 and this is a phenomenon we'll tackle.
Want to get in on it? Hit reply and I'll get you details.

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