5 minute read
Conversations With My Closet
Self Expression through Fashion: Reclaiming your identity after a year of social distance
WORDS BY ELISABETH HOWER | June 15th 2021
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This isn’t working, I said. “You look like a hippie cowgirl that wandered into a black tie gala and thought a scarf and rhinestone earrings would be enough to blend in.” I shook my head. So did the woman in the mirror across from me. How we’d be ready in 20 minutes, we had no idea.
Tonight I was heading to a birthday party, the first major social event since things have begun to open in a post-pandemic world. In other words, it was my first major social event since rolling out of bed for a Zoom call was a major social event. Further, it was the fête of someone I barely knew, full of people I’d never met before. I’d asked more than one friend, “What the hell do I wear?” I hadn’t thought much about fashion the past year; the state of the world had captured my attention and nearly rendered me paralyzed. What was fashion during the pandemic, anyway? We’ve all seen the memes likening our attire to a mullet: Business on the top, party on the bottom, (aka sweatpants). I looked at my closet with bewilderment. Who even owned these clothes? How long has that flannel been hanging there? None of it felt like me. It felt foreign, or at least, from a lifetime ago. Which I supposed in some ways it was. Tell Marie Kondo to bring an industrial-size dumpster.
It got me thinking. What will fashion be in this new, vaccinated world? Did our perspective shift? Are we simpler, have we lost the appetite for complex looks, in favor of ease arising out of… cough, cough, laziness? Or are we hungrier than ever to express? My instinct leaned toward the latter, but the problem was, I didn’t know what it was that I wanted to express.
I’ve always felt permission to whisper, “screw it,” and mismatch patterns, pair polka dots with stripes…the nerve! But with re-entry into the world impending, the question was quickly becoming not what did I want to express, but who? Whether we like it or not, each of us faces a transition into this new normal. Our jobs have changed or disappeared. So have our relationships. Some moved work online and watched it blossom; others witnessed dreams and businesses crumble, never to recover. Cities experienced mass exodus as people sought the (relative) affordability of the countryside. I wondered, now that the world began to regain its footing, who would come back?
The past year taught me to be more honest with myself and others, to set better boundaries, and perhaps most unexpected, that I’m not as much of an extrovert as I thought. I began to enjoy the time alone. And behind the scenes, confidence quietly grew. I liked the woman I was becoming. I just had no idea how to dress her. How to express her.
I took myself to Sephora: “It’ll be heaven!” I have always loved make up. To completely transform oneself within a matter of minutes has always seemed magical to me. However, when I brightly strode into the brightly lit store, the music blared loudly. There were people everywhere. Thousands of products lined the walls and aisles just as they always have. And yet, I wasn’t excited. I was overwhelmed. Overstimulated. The volume of consumerism hit my proverbial ears at a fever pitch. Instead of empowered and playful, I felt old and woefully out of touch. I balked at prices like my grandmother at the grocery store. “$38 for an eyeliner?” I’d forgotten the price of chic. And after a year spent barely working, I couldn’t afford it. At the same time, it felt important. After all, as Miuccia Prada says, “Fashion is instant language,” and following a year of shut downs, it feels like we have more to say than ever.
I left the store frustrated that a few mere moments within it had shaken my dewy confidence. Then I remembered. “Style is not a display of wealth but an expression of imagination.” (Anonymous) My dwindled bank account needn’t shoulder the entire burden of my self-expression. And didn’t the last year teach me a thing or two about resilience and creativity?
Which brings me back to my closet and that peculiar cowgirl staring back at me. The essence of what I wanted to say is there, so was the strength to say it. My denim said I don’t mind hard work, or getting dirty, my mother’s vintage belt that I remember where I came from. The large rhinestone earrings, hand-me-downs from my best friend, remind me that I love glamour, the impracticality of it. Most of my favorite things in life are impractical; I often think that’s the very reason I love them. Perhaps I wasn’t far off after all. The too-busy scarf would go and the drapey sweater would be replaced by a flowing striped button down, a forgotten goto tucked behind winter coats. All with five minutes to spare. The ensemble worked, but more importantly, it felt like me. I walked into the party. Quickly spotted a stranger… wearing polka dots and stripes. I smiled. Introduced myself. “Oh my god,” she said, “I love what you’re wearing.” And while none of it was new, nor expensive, so did I.
I’ve renewed confidence coming into this year, as well as renewed appreciation for the expression fashion affords me. And after spending a year getting to know myself in an entirely different way, I can’t wait to take that woman in the mirror shopping. After all, she’s got some things to say. ■
Photo by @greglevittphotography
