Signatures

WRITTEN BY ENSOR STULL PHOTOGRAPHED BY ASHLYN WANG

Inside our plain, wooden closets, there is a mutating world of colors and fabrics, morphing over our college years. College is for experimenting, whether it’s how we work, how we love, how we live, or how we present, our parameters for what we want our lives to look like warble and fluctuate in unexpected patterns. Exciting thrift finds and regrettable blunders define fashion adolescence. Those moments aren’t just fun—they can be formative and beautiful. However, there’s a case to be made for finding a signature: that item of clothing, piece of jewelry, bottle of fragrance, or shade of makeup that holistically represents you, that people think of synonymously with your name.

My decision to move to Emerson was also a decision to move across the country. Doing so meant that I had to be incredibly selective with what I brought from my old life. What would light up my days, tie me to home, and become my heirlooms? I decided on bringing only one pair of earrings: my Clotho hoops. They were a pair of golden right-hands, poised like they were in a seance, and strung on small hoops. I knew that coming to college, it would be a flurry of names and faces for everyone involved. However, if I had something that could catch eyes and identify myself, people would remember who I was. It’s the cartoon character effect: the design choices an artist makes reflect and embody the “character.” When you catch even a glimpse of that design, you recognize who’s wearing it.

The hands of my Clotho hoops hold so much memory and significance. Clotho is the youngest of the three Greek fates, spinning the thread of life. Carrying her with me helped usher me into my new life in Boston. I get compliments all the time about my earrings, and you’d be surprised at the amount of people who say, “You always wear the best earrings,” unaware that I’ve been wearing the same ones for the whole school year.

Beyond my earrings, since senior year of high school, I’ve attempted to link one thing to my presentation: pomegranates. I use pomegranate body wash, pomegranate shampoo, and pomegranate leave-in conditioner. My favorite fruit is a pomegranate, and my sheets in California are a rich, pomegranate red, but the crown jewel of it all is my pomegranate-scented perfume. It has notes of mahogany and lotus, and its deep smokiness makes me feel like a personal guest in Aphrodite’s hookah lounge. No matter what side of the country I’m on, smelling my perfume creates consistency and reassures me that I’m home.

There’s something profoundly ritualistic about signatures. My Clotho hoops are the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing to come off. When the molecules of my perfume make contact with my skin, I am reminded of who I am. Putting on signatures is the act of adorning yourself with more of yourself. Taking them off makes you feel like you’re ready to detach from the world and rest.

Signatures don’t have to be neutral, and they don’t have to be boring. Finding a signature means discovering something that complements you in every situation you’re in. If you wear a lot of jeans, you might stumble upon the perfect matching blue coat. If you already have your signature ruby-red platforms, you might hunt down the perfect matching lipstick.

A signature can be found anywhere: rings passed down through generations; a red, heart-stamped cowboy hat that took months to track down; or a thrifted jacket that’s been cherished for decades. What matters is that it feels like you.

Signatures aren’t just self-fulfilling, they can also serve to slow down fast fashion. Having one of the “slots” in your wardrobe permanently filled effectively eliminates the need to buy any new article of that type of clothing. Wearing the same thing every day means that you’ll need to invest in something with higher, more intentional quality. The concept of “cost-per-wear” gets thrown around a lot in spaces that talk about cost-effective sustainability. Having your signature accompany you on the daily will make you feel like you’ve justified your purchase.

For better or for worse, your personal items will live beyond you. The clothing we wear gets passed down to thrift stores, garbage patches, or if we’re lucky, our next of kin. I’ve always said I’ve never wanted children, but I often find myself daydreaming about being a grandmother, enshrouded with wrinkles, gifting my Clotho hoops to my grandchild. They are my heirlooms in the making, and I think of their legacy every day. YM