For as long as I can remember, I’ve tried to mimic other people’s dress sense in the hope it would help me blend in. There was the skinny jeans era during my teenage emo phase, and the questionable double-denim look inspired by B*Witched’s ‘C’est la Vie’ back in 1998. (Newsflash: I hate how denim feels on my skin and haven’t owned a pair of jeans in over 15 years.)
Still, I’ve spent years dressing in ways I thought I was supposed to. Clothes that helped me pass as ‘normal,’ or at least allowed me to disappear into the background. But recently, that’s started to shift. And while I’m still figuring out how to unmask in other areas of my life, I’m beginning to understand that it’s OK to wear clothes I actually like, rather than those I think will help me fit in.
I’ve always considered myself a bit of a chameleon when it comes to blending in. If I’m attending a social event, I’ll always try to find out what sort of thing other people will be wearing so I can dress in something similar. Social interactions are often already anxiety-inducing enough for me, so, as you can imagine, this makes going to events quite stressful, even before I’ve actually set foot in the door. Because not only am I worrying about my interactions with people, but I’m also panicking that I don’t ‘look the part’ and people will judge me for it.
Some occasions are easier for me than others. If I know I’m attending my local rock club, for example, I’ll wear hot pants. And hot pants are something I actually love to wear, despite the looks I know I get because my arse is on show. But if I’m going for evening drinks and don’t know where we’re going to end up, I panic that hot pants may not be acceptable, despite that being what I want to wear and what I feel most comfortable in. So, nine times out of 10, I end up in a skirt and top that I don’t feel overly relaxed in, just because I know it’ll get me fewer judgmental looks from others. I favour blending into my surroundings over being my authentic self.
I’ve also attended a fair few weddings over recent years, too, and these are the absolute worst for me because I just don’t like formal dresses; none of them feel ‘me’ enough. So again, I end up wearing something I don’t feel comfortable in, in the hope I’ll just be overlooked completely and no one will want to interact with me.
So what’s changed? Where has this sudden shift in mindset come from? If I’m honest, I think it started with planning for my recent trip to Japan. I knew the weather would be slightly warmer than here, and I wanted some new clothes that I actually felt comfortable in while exploring the country. Also, in a sense, I guess I figured the people I encountered in Japan would be less (openly, at least) judgmental towards what I wore. And with some positive comments from people at college about the clothing I chose for my trip, which I wore beforehand to test the waters, I felt confident I’d made the right decision in opting for clothes I actually wanted to wear, rather than those I thought others would deem appropriate.
But I was not prepared for the reaction I got to my style whilst in Japan. In fact, Japanese people adored my outfits, and I was frequently complimented on how kawaii (or cute) I looked by cashiers, theme park workers and more. These small gestures, along with people at college telling me how much they love my style, have actually been really touching. And in truth, I’m dressing now how I probably also did (or would have liked to) as a child: Pokémon-printed skirts and dungarees, clothing with cats all over it, bright florals and wacky designs.
It’s a far cry from the toned-down looks I used to wear just to stay unnoticed. Unfortunately, I know that dressing in this way will not allow me to blend into any kind of background. And although I’ve previously shied away from this, I’m learning to just own it. I mean, heck, I already stand out due to my bright hair anyway, and that’s another thing I do for me and no one else.
I’m still absolutely petrified of being perceived, and I’m still trying so hard to learn how to safely unmask in other areas of my life and just be me (whoever that is). But unmasking through clothing feels like the start of it all. And maybe that’s where it begins… not with a big declaration, but with a small, deliberate choice. One outfit, one step, one unmasked moment at a time.