Style, In Time
I recently started using Facebook again, which means—thanks to FB’s Memories feature—I’m reminded almost daily of some past version of myself, including several Cardigan Phases, some very questionable Bra Moments, and lots and lots of black:
While I’d never wear any of these outfits, today, I don’t feel anything negative about them, or the girl wearing them, nor am I embarrassed about the fact that I partook in past trends. In fact, I love being able to look at a photo and pinpoint exactly what my life was like and what was popular at the time based on my outfit; I love being able to see how my preferences and priorities have shifted and changed; and—perhaps most importantly—I love revisiting my past choices to evaluate if there’s something new I can take from them, today.
The phrase “I can’t believe I ever wore that!” simply doesn’t exist in my lexicon, and I don’t think it should exist in yours, either.
The person you used to be didn’t have the same access to information or experiences that you have now: they had a whole different set of influences, priorities, resources, even self-awareness, and made the best choices they could with them. By judging those choices too harshly, we risk flattening the growth we’ve made since, which can then limit how we continue to grow moving forward. But, when we get curious about them—and look at our old selves not just with new eyes, but with the goal of understanding who we were in those moments—we can turn our past fashion “fails” into a better fashion future.
That’s not to say we can’t be a little embarrassed about our, let’s say, less successful style risks. I made and wore a headband with fake bangs attached, I’m no stranger to questionable style decisions. Rather, I want us to reframe the shame we can sometimes feel around looking less than perfect in the past. After all, learning from our mistakes is one of the most important parts of life—as is reevaluating whether our mistakes were actually mistakes in the first place—but, we can only do that with hindsight, and hindsight requires time.
To get a bit personal, I’ve been considering what my future looks like as I search for a new home in a new country. While I’ve never really felt a strong connection to my home country, I’ve been trying to understand how I feel most connected to myself, and it’s required me to look back at how my expression has shapeshifted over the cities and neighborhoods I’ve lived in and what that means for my priorities. How do I feel the safest? Where? Why? For me, the answer boils down to, of course, how free I feel to dress however I want, but also what makes me want to dress in certain ways. Thinking back to certain outfits and remembering my state of mind and the state of my life I was in when I wore them, I’m starting to understand what I truly want—how I’m truly at my best.
I can’t apply this process to helping you figure out your most ideal place to live (sorry!) but, I can help you apply it to your wardrobe: How can we use our past style(s) and what we once wore to better understand where we’d like our closets to be, and how to get there. And, through all this newfound understanding, what can we learn about ourselves?
If you don’t really have a lot of old photos of yourself to look at, try writing down all the outfits or individual garments that you can remember wearing and roughly when. There’s plenty of information to be gleaned from the things you’ve found most memorable.
Learning
As we grow older, we tend to learn a little more about what we like…and a lot about what we dislike. Even as our needs change, the roots of our preferences tend to be consistent, though, it’s not always obvious how. Whether you seek to relive your past or bury it, you’ve got to know exactly what you’re working with. What can you learn from your old self?
Pattern Recognition
When you were at your best, how did you dress? What about at your worst? For both our highest highs and our lowest lows, most of us go for the path of least resistance—for better or for worse. When I think back to times when I was grieving, or dealing with a long-term illness, or going through a break up, I like to compare them to the times when I was feeling free, flush with cash, or falling in love. For me, there’s a constant thread of using accessories, either to sort of distract from my hardships, or to cheer myself up, or to feel like myself. The reasons are always different, but the outcome is always the same: way too much jewelry.
What’s most interesting to me is how consistent these instincts can be, even when everything else is shifting. It’s not always obvious—it can even feel a bit random—but, there is a logic to it, and that logic is an integral part of who you are and your style.
Do you have any style coping mechanisms? Or, are there things you default to for special occasions, happy times, or when there’s an exciting prospect? When you feel out of control in life, do you dress to feel more in-control and commanding or to disappear? What items do you reach for when you want to feel better? Are there pieces you only wear when you want to be seen or admired? What’s your “default uniform,” when you’re short on time…does it feel good? How can we change it to make it feel more like you? Are there clothes or accessories you avoid during certain emotional states? Why?
These are not necessarily problems to be fixed. The point of exploring your patterns is to understand why you reach for the things you do. Do the patterns make sense? Or have you just been running on auto-pilot?
