I still have this vivid memory from when I was eight years old. It was my birthday, and I chose a magnificent outfit to celebrate. I wore an orange denim skirt my parents had bought for me on a recent trip to Graz, Austria. They’d take my two sisters and me there shopping before every school year, and I was always so excited to wear some of these things to school. I paired my orange denim skirt with a vanilla-colored top and cute Mary Janes. My mom even braided my hair which made the whole look *extra* special.
I was walking to school especially excited that day. Sure, because it was my birthday and I wondered who might remember and if the teacher might make the whole class sing me a song. But the highlight was my outfit. It felt fresh, authentic, and empowering. So I’m walking blissfully, and suddenly, I hear a group of boys giggling. I turn around and realize one of them is approaching me on a bike. He catches up and starts to cycle around me. “Is it your day off from the circus?” he asks. “You’re a clown, right? I mean, you’re sure dressed as one.” The boys behind us roar with laughter. I charge forward. And my day is ruined.
I got outfit-shamed many more times after that. A co-worker once asked me why did I come naked into work when I wore a nude Margiela body. An acquaintance scolded me at a friend’s wedding because I wore a red dress which in his opinion stood out too much. A stylist told me I shouldn’t wear my new barrel jeans (or things that hide my legs in general) since that’s the only thing I got to flaunt. I’m absolutely aware that I’m not the only one. I can’t even imagine what people go through every day because of the way they dress. Especially those who do not fall into your good ol’ gender stereotypes. And I was quite bewildered when I bought a book by one of my old college professors the other day. The book is about fashion in Zagreb, Croatia at the turn of the 20th century, and in the back, it has a whole load of offensive ads making fun of women’s fashions.
That made me take another book I’ve had for years, Taschen’s 100 Years Of Apparel Ads. Ad after ad after ad women were told what to look like, how to attract (men’s) attention, how to look plumper (in the first half of the 20th century) or thinner (in the second half of the 20th century). And that’s not new to me, it’s something women still deal with daily. But then they’re laughed at for following those standards. I’m not even going to get into how the media love to drag famous women for what they’re wearing. And isn’t it funny how that’s completely different in nature? Male birds always have brighter feathers, lions have richer fur than lionesses, and male mandrills have brighter colors on their faces than females who are usually just brown. And they’re celebrated for it. It’s what helps them get the best females to mate with. My point is that fashion was never meant for women to feel good, or at least the ads suggest so.
I am still reluctant to show up in something daring when I know I’m about to find myself surrounded by people who won’t get it. And I know what you’re thinking after reading this. “You want some cheese with that whine?” But, you know what? I want to feel good in the clothes I wear and I intend to feel good in the clothes I wear. Also, I just finished reading this gut-wrenching book by Abi Morgan called This Is Not A Pitty Memoir, and it taught me one great thing about writing about yourself and your feelings. “There’s no such thing as pitty memoirs, only words on pages, and if they mean something to someone, they are worth being said.” Even if that someone is just me for now. To send you off today and maybe explain why I started this newsletter a bit further, I want to quote something Raf Simons said in a New York Times interview in 2016: “I was really out to find an audience, no matter how small, who could feel, ‘This is something I could connect with, something I feel like I can be part of.’.” So just wear the damn orange denim skirt. You’ll find the audience who gets it.