Colette Marie Murphy

I want to start this with “Since the dawn of time…” because, hell, that’s what it feels like. But I don’t actually know if that’s true. I do know that it’s been true for me as an American woman living through the 80s, 90s, 00s, 10s, and, now, 20s, so, let’s at least say “From my perspective, since as early as I can remember…”

From my perspective, since as early as I can remember, there’s been an unseen societal pressure to develop a “personal style.” Clothes have never, in my estimation and experience, been just about functionality. Heck, even middle school PE uniforms came with the added pressure of deciding, exactly, how a gray tee-shirt and purple sweat shorts should fit an early pubescent body. Do you get them as baggy as possible? As tight as possible? How high up do you pull the waist band on the shorts to determine how much of your leg is showing? Should you knot the bottom of the t-shirt, tuck it in, or leave it long – but if you leave it long, does it cover your shorts too much?!?!

Yes, I retain core memories of this hellscape*.

(*Let’s face it, all of middle school/early puberty is a hellscape. If you think you made it through unscathed, I think you’re lying to me. Or to yourself. Maybe talk to your therapist about that.)

High school, for me (late 90s/early 00s), is when the real “personal style pressure” seemed to start to cook. It could have been the fault of the magazines I perused (no sixteen-year-old needs to know how to go “from day to night,” but I read those articles like they were the Holy Bible), the activites in which I participated (constantly wearing costumes and pretending to be someone else does things to your brain…), or the TV shows I watched (I really just want to blame Stacy London for this).

It hit an interesting boiling point for me in college when I realized I definitely did not have my own “personal style,” and I realized this because a friend pointed out that whenever I went shopping, I came home with clothes that “looked like” whomever I was shopping with. So, when I went shopping with my friend who swayed punk/alternative, my clothes had a twinge of that. When I went shopping with my very, very girly friend, my clothes definitely were pastels and flowers. And so on.

I’m sure plenty of people reading this are thinking “Well, yeah. We all do that. It’s normal.” And maybe it is. But I feel like there’s also this weird pressure — again, probably from the shows I watch and the magazines I still sometimes flip through and the ads I get on Instagram — for people, particularly women and femme-presenting folks, to have a PERSONAL STYLE.

Maybe I should define what that means (as I see it). The “Personal Style” idea, popularized in magazines like Vogue or InStyle, on shows like Queer Eye or What Not To Wear, by celebrities like Audrey Hepburn or Victoria Beckam, is that you, as an individual, have a “look.” It’s the clothes you wear, yes, but also how you style your hair, if/how much make-up you wear, what colors/fabrics/textures/jewelery you wear… It is, in many ways, the “costume” you wear for the “character” that is you as a person.

Remember the scene from Gilmore Girls when Rory and Lorelai are shopping and Lorelai notices Logan out with another girl and Rory tries to act like she’s not hurt by it even though she really obviously is? I recognize the plot purpose of that scene is to show the conflict in the relationship, to push Rory to ask for commitment, to give Lorelai yet another reason to hate Logan…but here’s what I remember from that scene:

“No, let’s follow that girl, she knows where my stores are!“

and

“Look, mom, the Lorelai look is back. And this time, it’s in velvet!“

The humorous framing of the scene is all about “the Lorelai look” — the clothes/style/etc that make up “Lorelai” and how she’s having a hard time finding them, hence why she’s shopping in New Haven with Rory. Gilmore Girls actually does this a lot… there’s another scene later on where Rory is arguing with a maid over her wardrobe because Emily doesn’t approve.

Anyway, the point is, I’ve always wanted “the Lorelai look,” but, you know, for me. As a person, not a character on a ficional TV show. I’ve read blogs, watched YouTube videos, scrolled endlessly through Pinterest, flipped through magazines, all in the name of figuring out my own “personal style.” What are the things that are my “look”? And I’ve never managed to nail it down. I opt, instead, for wearing as many “soft clothes” (sweats, leggings, t-shirts) as possible and sticking to a small smattering of other clothes that usually get me compliments when I go out. I spend so much time standing in front of my closet staring at everything and not liking any of it (much of which is because it was either picked by someone else – a la Stitch Fix – or bought when I was shopping with someone and I let their style overcome me in the moment. And some of it is literally old costume pieces from when I needed to outfit myself for shows…)

So, today, an ad came across my IG feed of this dress:

I instantly fell in love with it. It was this moment of just OMG, YES, I LOVE THAT DRESS.

Does the dress look like anything I have in my closet currently? No.
Does the dress fit my internal vision of my “look”/personal style? No.
Do I have any idea as to when/where/why I might wear this dress? No.

But I loved it. I loved it deeply and instantly, even as the brain gremlins started their chorus of “YOU can’t wear THAT” and “What on earth would you do with it?” and “That’s not going to be flattering on you…” and “Aren’t you a little old for that look?” (and a lot of really other terrible things, because gremlins are loud and they are mean, but I do believe at their core, our brain gremlins are really just saying “I just want to protect you.”

Yes, clothing in many ways is simply functional, but in so many more ways, it’s an extension of self. And wearing something that is bright, bold, and outside the “norm” of what people expect from you can feel pretty damn daunting.

But I bought the dress anyway, and then I sat down to write this blog.

I wish I had a good ending here. A great summation of the point I was trying to make, a takeaway lesson to help you out on your own personal style journey, or a sage piece of advice. I don’t. I guess I can just tell you where I’m at, and that is thinking that, maybe, personal style is…kinda bullshit?

I mean, yes, perhaps you are a capsule wardrobe, or a Spring color palette, or a “day-to-night,” or a ripped jeans and band t-shirts, or an all-black-whenever-possible, or a athleisure-soccer-mom-chic person 100% of the time, and maybe your clothes reflect that. Maybe, like Lorelai Gilmore herself, we could identify you from your closet alone. And that’s great, and it falls nicely into the well-marketed/branded/advertised “personal style” framework. Good on ya’.

But maybe you’re a Monday sweatpants and tee-shirt, Tuesday cotton sundress, Wednesday pleather mini and crop top, Thursday overalls and a corset, Friday silk caftan in the morning and jeans and tank in the evening, Saturday sports bra and leggings, and Sunday pajamas all day person, all in different colors and fabrics and textures. Your closet is (or can be!) a mismatch of the many different looks/feels/interests/personalities that you are and have.

And, no, that doesn’t photograph nicely for Cosmopolitan and most people aren’t going to pin it as a suggestion on their personal “fashion” boards. People aren’t going to look at all of those outfits next to each other and think “ah, yes, I know this person’s personal style.”

And maybe that can be just as great.

(I’ll try to remember to post a follow-up when the dress gets here…)