i dressed loud so i could be quiet
let’s psychoanalyze your closet (and mine)
Using my overthinking powers for good.
This newsletter is the second installment to THE ARTIST’S WAY FOR PERSONAL STYLE! An 8-part series of newsletters, lovingly paired with journal prompts & exercises for recovering (and discovering) your connection to your personal style. Browse the full collection of newsletters in this series here.
Today, we’re talking about the ghosts of closet’s past. A totally chill topic. And how embracing the past, present, and future of our wardrobes can help us reach closet contentment.
The second we hate our closet, we think the solution is buying our TRR wishlist with our rent money. And sometimes? Maybe that is the answer. But I want to offer another perspective or two this week.
I used to dress loudly, so I could be quiet. Which isn’t a bad thing (I promise, this is relevant). And it’s something I didn’t realize that until I had to face my fears of beige tops and black dresses. Let me explain.
When I was around 16, I found myself absolutely mesmerized by the 60s/70s revival scene. Growing up a fashion lover, avid thrifter, and constantly wishing I was Pamela Des Barres or in a Wes Anderson movie, this was a style pivot that made sense. Prior to this, I think my style was a little more broad. I was a fashion blogger on Tumblr (IYKYK), and didn’t tie myself down to any particular style, I just liked exploring, DIYing, the works. Some teenagers do drugs, I did American Apparel and It by Alexa Chung.
Anyways, the 60s/70s thing felt so right. It was the first slice of my style that felt so fully me I just wanted to be enveloped in it. And as a fashion history addict, I’ve always viewed vintage as so incredibly special– just think of the stories attached to that handmade 70s smock dress! So down the rabbit hole I went– Jane Birkin, glittery blue eyeshadow, French Yé-yé girls, 60s groupie culture, and turning my life into Marcia Brady’s became my creative altar. I refused to wear a bra (even though it gave me back pain) and drew on bottom lashes with inky black eyeliner like it was my job. I was young, creatively inspired, and excited.
Some teenagers do drugs, I did American Apparel and It by Alexa Chung.
But uh oh! As I got into my early twenties, I found myself overidentifying with my “niche.” But it was kind of an accident. My bad. Here’s what happened, I think: I had started a film collective with some friends where we were taking our love for retro-anything and filmmaking and making femme-led, retro short films. It was fun at first, but as we broke into the industry, I soon realized I was surrounded by people (and worse, men who wanted to literally latch onto our career success like demons) that wanted to market our personalities over engaging in authentic creativity. Of course, anyone familiar with probably any industry or marketing of any kind is likely unsurprised to hear this. But I didn’t even notice it was happening for the first couple of years of our film work. (More on my feelings about creative freelancing and faux romanticism here, lol.)
Eventually, I felt entirely boxed in. I knew my creativity, both in my film work and in my style, was inspired beyond this one niche. Even though my peers, the industry I was in, was begging me to be one digestible thing. It no longer felt like me. I put myself in a box I was destined to outgrow. And since I have a problem with the corporatization of creative fields, I naturally was just icked out even more by the idea that others wanted me to stay this one thing because it comes across easier to others, but is entirely one-dimensional and uninspired at a certain point to me. A human being with more than one interest. So, for the first time since I was a teenager, I considered what it would feel like to transition this part of my style and creative identity from the whole pie to one slice of it.
To honor it, integrate it, but not live by it. It’s almost like when you’re in your early twenties you think you have it all figured out until you realize you actually just outgrew all of the things you thought you knew. LOL.
Anyways, I was curious and READY for change, that much I knew. At the last film premiere I attended before disbanding the collective, I did something different. Something that felt entirely foreign. I wore all black. Shocking and brave, I know. But listen!! Typically, I (still!) like to dress on theme for the film we are screening. But it didn't feel the same anymore, in this context. It felt like I was begging people to see who I was creatively, and dressing in bootleg Cher cosplay everywhere I went no longer felt true to my whole creative heart. I needed to spend a little time going back to basics and creating room for the other parts of my creative identity (even though I love metallic purple eyeshadow and flares and glitter).
I had to breathe and tell myself, as absolutely kooky as this sounds, that I was still valuable to myself and to others and to this little world in a beige top and jeans as I would be in a polyester jumpsuit and candy-colored neckscarf.
I didn’t want to be the loudest dressed, or feel like I was forcing myself into this one box and that being in that one box was the only way I'd be accepted. I wanted to, through dress, through my little act of quiet defiance, tell myself I was enough on my own.
After that premiere, I flew home, respectively blew up any outgrown or unhealthy elements of my early twenties life, and started the process of connecting back to the whole me. Of getting to know her. And it was the best choice I ever have made in my life. I thank the chiffon black pants and matching square-toed boots I wore that night. In fact, creating this room to connect with myself beyond outer perceptions allowed me to feel more creatively valuable than I ever had.
Upon reflection, I came to a slightly bittersweet conclusion. As your early twenties often are, this time in my life was incredibly turbulent. From chronic illnesses, family issues, living with narcissists, and doing a lot of unpaid labor, ultimately I was not only trying to find myself but also ground myself. I wanted to root down in something. I see that now. I wanted to bring a little joy and magic into my life, and what better way to do that than with psychedelic floral dresses and little white platforms?
It’s like, this particular style era of mine was one I know well, and as the early twenties went by, it felt like the only thing I knew well. And I held tightly onto that. Change terrified me. And at that film premiere when I decided to let all of the retro glitz go for the night, as a little self ritual and experiment, there was something symbolic in allowing myself to let the only thing I felt I really knew deeply about myself go for a moment.
Style is that deep.
And as the years went by, another interesting reflection came about. It’s clear to me now that, at the time, I felt so creatively unconfident and/or underrecognized. It’s so interesting the way our clothing reflects exactly what we’re going through in ways we could’ve never expected. I thought that if I wore something loud and creative I’d be respected as a creative equal and able to claim the creative ownership over the work I had done. I had to dress up to be heard. Because I feared my soft voice alone wasn't enough.
Turns out? Dressing so others see you, whether it's through the male gaze, a niche, diluting yourself down, whatever it may be, makes it a lot harder to see yourself and access contentment in your personal style. I know you just want to be seen and accepted. I get it. But inconveniently, I’ve learned that it starts with seeing, accepting, and LISTENING to ourselves. Listening to the little nudges.
I feared my soft voice alone wasn't enough.
It’s been a good few years since then, and I’m always learning something new from my closet. It’s been an era of rediscovering and experimenting. And I’ve had a lot of fun exploring the other slices of my style pie that extended beyond the wackiest, sequined item at the thrift store. But the other day, I saw an old pair of bell bottoms with the wackiest orange and pink print on them hanging in my closet, and I thought it might be time to let them go. I mean, god, they reminded me of an ancient past life.. But something kept me hanging on to them.
And something tender hit me.
What if our closets were an altar to our past selves?
What if we allowed ourselves to not only dress for ourselves, and definitely not others, but embraced the memories and the stories and how we got to where we are now through our garments?
Journal prompts & exercises, for your consideration
Because going through the skeletons in my closet is my favorite past time, and it could be yours too!
Journal prompts
Write about a time your style changed dramatically. Was it tied to a life event, a relationship, a move, a haircut, or a heartbreak? What did that style shift protect or reveal?
How do you view your "cringe" style phases now? Try to write from a place of tenderness. What were you trying to figure out at the time? How can you reclaim those pieces or energies with love instead of shame?
List 3 core eras of your style so far. Give them names like “The Mall Goth Years,” “Vintage Ballerina,” “Pastel Tumblr Sad Girl,” the works. For each era: What were you trying to communicate? What were you hiding? What still resonates from that time?
Exercises
Creating the altar of closet’s past, present and future. Aren’t you bored of constantly moodboarding for future you? Why is it never past or present? Sometimes, I feel like I’m running away from myself when I notice that I’m future—daydreaming a little too hard. No wonder I don’t like my outfit today. Anyways, I want you to consider turning your closet into your own personal altar. Where you get the privilege of connecting with every version of yourself through fabrics, textures, garments, and colors. Maybe you create a moodboard dedicated to your past self, or maybe you ask her for style advice. Maybe! You dust the cobwebs off of an old top from 2011 and hang it up at the front of your closet, just as a little emblem of honoring the you that got you to today. Woo-woo? Maybe. Fun and refreshing? Yes.
Source one item that resembles a piece you miss from your past that you no longer have. Or! Simply grab a piece for the very back hangers of your closet that you haven’t worn in decades. Maybe it makes you cringe, or holds less-than-fond memories. Instead of getting rid of it, style it, remix it, and let your past inspire you, let it intermingle with the present. Let it be a moment to bring your past self along for the day, like a time travel field trip with yourself. Show her around!
I hope you loved today’s offering. This was a really fun one to reflect on- maybe I need to share some photo evidence of the aforementioned style era in our subscriber chat. I can’t wait to hear what comes up for you with this week’s prompts and exercises!
Talk to you next week for part 03 for THE ARTIST’S WAY FOR PERSONAL STYLE: TURNING UP YOUR VOLUME… & LOWERING OTHERS; UNCOVERING YOUR PREFERENCES, TRENDS, & THE CONTEXT OF WHAT YOU WANT TO COMMUNICATE THROUGH YOUR STYLE.
<3, Emma
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