John Fetterman’s wardrobe for his public life as a U.S. Senator should not be an issue. Or should it?

Ultimately any elected official who finds that their wardrobe choices are becoming the news rather than their work needs to ask for help shopping.

Consider this. Consider clothing as a symbol, which it is. It is like a personal flag that we wear what we choose to wear when we are making a statement about who we are.

Even without logos and brands, clothes are a signal of cultural identity. But should that become an obstruction in the important work of a senator?

Gym shorts and sweatshirts symbolize—what? Well, certainly not the serious business of life in the Senate. Would Sen. Fetterman wear shorts and a hoodie to a funeral? To a wedding?

The senator lumbering through the historic halls of power looking like an indulged child who didn’t want to dress for a grown-up occasion is in its small way as much of an insult to the symbolism of Congress as the hooligans who vandalized that place on January 6.

If Sen. Fetterman’s wardrobe is a result of an inability to find clothing in his size, as some suggest, perhaps Chris Christie can take him shopping in an act of bipartisan goodwill.

That would be a start to changing the erosion of civility and decorum on both sides of the aisle in words, deeds and, yes, dress.

Because ultimately that’s what it’s about. It’s about the rampant lack of respect for civil conduct, where propriety actually has value in a no-holds-barred era in which identity politics obfuscates the serious issues that are the work of those on the Hill.

What exactly is Sen. Fetterman saying by choosing to dress like he’s about to watch a game in the frat house or like a depressed person who just got out of bed? And considering his battle with depression and his laudable honesty about that, the senator might now try to overcome his possible undiagnosed retail anxiety.

And as we witness so many members of Congress breaking the codes of civility and decorum, behaving like they want to be performing rather than encouraging the electorate to pay heed to the serious matters that they were elected to legislate, maybe it’s time for them to put their dramatic dreams to be in the spotlight away until retirement, when surely their histrionics can get at the least an outlet in community theaters in their home states. But again that too would mean they’d have to gracefully accept the results of auditions.

Cynthia Nash lives in Milanville, PA.