Defining Style: On Having a Uniform (Part I)

As I’ve said once too many times before, I haven’t written about fashion for a while—namely because I’ve been spending more than half of my time in some sort of leggings-sports bra-crop top and therefore feel less than qualified to offer any legitimate (or trustworthy) fashion opinion.

(Luckily for me, sports luxe is a real trend. Thank you, Alexander Wang.)

But in the time spent outside of rehearsal or classes (that rare 30-40%) I’ve come to realize that now more than ever, I have a definite uniform at the ready. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older (and wiser, one should hope), maybe I’m beginning to value my limited time more and more. Regardless, it’s clear that I’ve developed a signature.

I’ve always known it was, to some extent, there. Some say that I’m a creature of habit, and while that could be true, I’m also definitive in knowing what I like. My philosophy is simple: know what I like, know what looks good on me and makes me happy, and stick with it. Is it limiting? Perhaps, but trade-offs exist in every situation. At the most superficial level, having a uniform grounds us. Maybe it’s just me; I’m notoriously restless, and I suppose relying on steadiness balances things.  But to dabble in everything, to overextend, is no different to me from being flighty. To develop personal style is synonymous to understanding self and speaks louder than whatever trend du jour you try to wear. Lack of cohesion or thought in clothing is transparent: it reads as indecisiveness about who you want to be and how you want to be portrayed.

People notice that level of definitiveness. It never occurred to me that my “look” was that distinctive, so much so that I was easily recognizable from afar. People have come to associate me and my clothes as one (ah, first impressions: another topic I could write a thesis on) and it wasn’t until a few friends mentioned that in conversation recently when I realized just how significant of an impact clothes played in our perceptions of people.

Case in point: who would Brigitte Bardot, Carine Roitfeld, Iris Apfel, Alexis Chung, even, be if not for their now iconic looks? It’s more than consistency, we appreciate a strong understanding and acceptance of self.

It’s one thing if your personal style evolves to better fit who you’re becoming, but there’s no sense if you’ve made it a mission to be challenging when it comes to your look. Why? What’s the point? It’s no different from mindlessly daring yourself to do something just because. Life’s to short for that sort of nonsense: you should only wear (and in that same note, do, commit to etc.) things that speak to you, reflect who you are, inspire you.  You’re meant to challenge your self, your mind, your body. Not your look.

Whether we like to admit it or not, clothing speaks monumental amounts. I see plenty of girls wearing fabulous, perfectly paired things or donning something wildly extravagant to be “different,” and while they look snap-worthy, I couldn’t tell you a thing about their personality. It’s either too contrived or off in fit; whatever it is, something about their outfit just doesn’t mesh with who they are. Personal style—which essentially means having a uniform of sorts—entails how you wear the clothing too. It’s the whole package, really: after all, when you choose to buy something, wear it, wash it, and re-wear it again, you’re wearing clothing a certain way. Your way. Clothing then becomes a part of you, no? (Another reason I have no shame in repeating outfits: if you love it, you love it.) Choosing for the sake of trends or imitation doesn’t come across as sincere. It’s jarring, like you’re a little girl in your mother’s too-big-shoes and lipstick smeared across your mouth playing dress-up.

The power of clothing, while indicative of just how superficial our consumer-culture-plagued society has become, can become a positive: with our wardrobe, we craft our stories they way we want our narrative to be told so others don’t dictate who they think we are or should be.

That’s the beauty of fashion.

.   .   .

Read the rest of the series.

xx