How to Hide

17 years ago, when I was 14, I had an open wound on my leg that would not heal, that hurt so bad that I struggled to walk, and that ultimately lead to me being hospitalized with an infection that we were lucky hadn’t turned septic. That kicked off a 15-year struggle with 3 different chronic illnesses, thousands of dollars in medical bills, and, today, two legs covered in scars that somewhat resemble burns. Basically, the wounds start from the inside, and my insides weren’t in the best shape for a long, long time.

Being chronically ill and disabled comes with a whole host of problems that can make living a “normal” life difficult to nearly impossible: constant trips to the doctor or the emergency room that complicate your ability to do much of anything else; the cost of prescriptions, equipment, and care eating up any and all income—if you’re able to even hold a job or qualify for benefits; missing out on socializing to deal with symptoms or being completely housebound for long stretches of time and the difficulty that causes in maintaining relationships; not to mention, the pain and suffering and inconvenience that comes from the illness itself.

Now, you’re probably thinking, “That’s sad, Lakyn, but what does it have to do with style?” And I’ll tell you: everything. At least for me.

Years ago, my mom, who underwent dialysis three times a week for four years, told me that dressing well makes being sick easier. She didn’t mean it makes you more comfortable, or happier, or whatever: she meant it makes people treat you better.

I was into fashion long before my body started to revolt against me, but it was my sickness that solidified it as part of my identity. Doctors did listen to me more intently when I dressed nicely to appointments; I did get treated kindly when I wore a little makeup and jewelry to the emergency room; my friends were more understanding when I came out of my sick cave in a fabulous outfit. It only took a few months to notice the difference. When I wanted nothing more than to throw on a potato sack and flip flops, that was when it was the most valuable to do the exact opposite. Is that an incredibly traumatic realization? Is it incredibly unfair to those who simply cannot do the same? Has it shaped my entire life and the way I perceive myself and the way I navigate the world? Absolutely.

Fortunately, now, I’m fine. My illnesses are under as much control as they can be and, because of that, my doctor’s appointments and emergency room visits are much fewer and further between. That said, being sick will always affect my life and, naturally, my style. Because the scars remain, and, as much as I’d love to be comfortable showing them off freely, I don’t know that I ever will. So, how do I cover them? What do I wear to ensure I honor my personal values of self-expression and avoid any possible negative attention on my gnarled calves? (Yes, the word choice is intentionally humorous—feel free to laugh!)

And, how can my journey help you hide the things you want to hide…without hiding all of you?

What Do You Need?

My most prominent scars are on my right leg, about 9.5 inches up my calf, though, the top 3 inches or so blend into my natural skin color enough that I’m okay exposing that portion. The scars on my left leg stop a little lower, about 6 inches up my calf, and are more concentrated on the side of my ankle, rather than the front of my leg like those on my right, so, I don’t always mind letting them show.

I know this information off the top of my head because it affects, not just what I wear day-to-day, but what clothing I decide to acquire in the first place. Keeping what I need from my clothes in mind keeps me from purchasing things that may require me to buy something else make it work for me, or worse, that I won’t wear at all because it just doesn’t meet my needs.

To figure out what you need from your clothing, the first step is being aware of—and honest about— what makes you feel comfortable, confident, and in control. What, precisely, do you want to hide? But, also, when do you need to hide it? Where? Why? You don’t have to get as specific as I do—but it really helps with pinpointing what exactly you want to accommodate anytime you get dressed and where you can take a few more liberties.

Next, think about where you’ll be and how that affects what you want/need from your clothes. Different settings may make you want to cover up more or dress a certain way to feel comfortable, whether that’s about formality, practicality, or even just who you’re around and what you’re doing. You might be fine with exposing certain areas when you're hanging out with friends but want to cover up more in situations where you're not as familiar with your surroundings. What will you actually be doing? Are you moving around a lot, going to multiple locations, sitting for long stretches, or dealing with unpredictable weather? Could your clothing shift in a way that exposes you in a way you’re uncomfortable with (this comes up for me when wearing skirts with a slit, for example) or will you need to remove the pieces/layers that are doing the heavy lifting (like needing to remove the jacket that’s hiding that embarrassing tattoo you got when you were 18)?

Doing this work while building your wardrobe, rather than when you’re getting dressed is what makes those things we hide out of emotional necessity into opportunities rather than insecurities. Opportunities for what? I’m glad you asked.

What Makes Sense? vs. What Makes It You?

Occam’s razor states that the simplest answer is usually the correct one. No offense to William of Ockham (Occky for short), but, when it comes to style, that’s not necessarily the case.

For instance, the simplest and perhaps most instinctual response to wanting to hide your legs would be to just put on pants. The most obvious answer to wanting to hide your arms would be to wear long sleeves. A preference for hiding your lower stomach area might be baggier shirts. All of those make sense. But, would they make the wearer happy? And, more importantly, would they enable the wearer to express themself the way they want to?

Think about what’s a little less obvious. Personally, I stopped wearing pants years ago. So, how do I hide my legs? Maxi skirts are another obvious choice that I clearly love, but, I also made boots my trademark: year-round. Yes, even in the summer. Even in the desert!

Me in Vegas, mid-flare up: You can see my bandage!

Because of my propensity for specificity, I know exactly how tall my boots need to be to both hide my scars and not look too weird when temperatures creep up, as well as what materials and silhouettes work with both my warm- and cold-weather looks.

I’ll be honest and say: it took years of experimentation, a lot of (sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes expensive) mistakes, and plenty of stretches where I kinda looked a mess. But, that was because I had no intention or direction beyond finding what made sense, and it was dissatisfaction with that obvious answer (not just pants, but high socks and even tights in the summer heat) that lead me to explore how to adapt my style not just my clothes to my goal.

So, instead of focusing solely on what you want to hide, think about what you love to highlight. Covering your arms? Try sheer sleeves or lightweight fabrics or even measuring exactly what length your sleeves need to be for you to feel comfortable and don’t stray from it when you’re buying tops. Don’t want to wear baggy shirts all the time? High-waisted skirts and pants that flare away from the body give both physical and visual “space” and take focus away from the abdomen.

By experimenting and playing with what makes you feel comfortable, you might just discover a signature style that allows you to express yourself without compromising on comfort or coverage. And maybe, once you’ve found that comfort zone, over time, you’ll start to feel comfortable occasionally sticking a toe or, say, an ankle out of that zone. You know, if the outfit’s cute enough.

I may hate my scars, but I love these shoes!