3 minute read
Covid times – getting dressed for what?
A MILLENNIAL’S POV
By Kimberley Elliot
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Kimberly Elliot is an associate with a Torontobased marketing agency.
My mom used to work from home when I was in high school. Every morning she would wake up, style her hair, put on a bit of makeup and get fully dressed in work attire. I thought she was certifiably insane. What was the purpose of getting dressed if you weren’t going to see anyone, let alone even leave your house? My vain, superficial teenaged brain believed that looking good was for the external gaze of friends and strangers. I loved clothes back then, too – but they were for communicating to others, for others to see, validate and affirm my style. What is art if not for others to see? Last March, amid lockdowns and social distancing, I assumed my new aesthetic of bag lady chic. (I’m being generous, it was mostly just bag lady.) I embraced it wholeheartedly. My clothes had to meet a short list of criteria: Is it comfortable? Can I climb inside a toddler-sized fort in it? Can it get food or vomit on it? Can it withstand finger painting with two kids? I wasn’t dressing for myself, I was dressing for a global pandemic where I would be seeing absolutely no one outside my home; while playing Mom aka teacher /entertainer /chef /ringmaster /puppeteer / artist /maid /jungle gym /horse, etc. …
COVID CASUAL
I used to relish in getting dressed – getting dressed as in “draping myself in identity.” It was a ritual I loved and that brought me so much joy. I meticulously planned outfits with an intimate love for subtle details. Boxy cashmere, statement sleeves, burnout velvet kimonos, oversized sweaters and patterned skirts were elements of an identity I felt more and more distanced from as lockdown went on. Covid quickly diminished getting dressed to a time-sensitive exercise reduced to the corner of my closet I reserve for sweats and my dreaded leggings. (Unpopular opinion: Leggings are not pants.) My closet was not for pleasure but function. I was no longer getting dressed; I was merely clothing myself.
Come May, I was not doing well. And while there were plenty of reasons for anyone’s mental health to be suffering, mine were being compounded by the new relationship I was forming with my closet. Feelings about myself became hinged on an image in the mirror I barely recognized. I realized it was time to start getting dressed again. Cue 1950’s housewife, dressed at all hours of the day and looking fine (that’s fiiiiiinnne) aesthetic.
TIME FOR A CHANGE
Functionality to the wind, I went to town. My days of kid’s messes, cuddles, meal making, cleaning and horseplay became occasions worthy of cashmere and skirts. A neighbourhood walk was a great opportunity for a statement sweater or dress. I styled my hair and threw on a blouse, instead of a T-shirt, whenever I wore jeans. I reconnected with my closet and showed love to pieces I had thought didn’t fit in my new lifestyle. A few small changes upended how I approached my day. Aside from one casualty – a merino wool sweater that endured an inappropriate laundry cycle at the hands of my husband and almost ended our marriage – things were looking way up.
MOM DID KNOW BEST
I know why my mom got dressed and ready for work from home every day, all those years ago. Now here’s a gushy, feel-good sentiment that feels like it’s right out of an awful Hallmark channel movie – getting dressed isn’t about who you’ll see or what you’re doing. It’s about how you feel!
Joking aside, style is so much a part of who I am and how I feel about myself, and getting dressed is for nobody other than me. Yes, it took an obscene number of years, with tight restrictions on where I can go and who I can see amid a global pandemic, to learn this about myself. I guess you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone, only it’s not gone but you rediscover it with new meaning. Clothes are wearable art; but not for any special occasion or for the sake of being seen and enjoyed by others, it’s art for art’s sake. And life is the occasion.
