Everyone knows when a relationship has reached its breaking point. For some, it takes constant fighting. For others, it simply takes a few irreconcilable differences, or perhaps a scandalous affair. For me, all it took — while I was arguing with an ex on the street at 2 a.m. — was a single impudent stab at my Achilles’ heel: my wardrobe. I remember him gesturing, palms down, fingers rigid and accusing, searching the air for the perfect way to cut me down.
When he accused me of being materialistic, I brushed it off because, after all, it was the truth. As for being selfish, aren’t we all? But when he swiped the surface of his index fingernail roughly across the shoulder of my patterned sweater dress, muttering the words “distasteful,” “attention craving” and “obnoxious,” I knew it was over. I knew — and my dress knew and my maroon tights knew and my silver jazz shoes knew — that with each slanderous syllable, all affection for him waned and wasted away. After his tirade, as his blasphemous words sank to the ground and settled, I could do nothing more than give him a fierce once-over, silently condemning his baggy jeans, obnoxious sneakers and paint-stained T-shirt, and walk coolly away.
On the way home, rather than ruing the dramatic breakup, I consoled my dress and mused about the gender politics of dressing. If Whatshisface didn’t like my clothes — though it took him three months and countless discrete outfit-change suggestions to say it — how many other men felt the same way? Did the barrenness of my black book have less to do with my social awkwardness and more to do with my American Apparel leotard experiment and my high-waisted jeans fetish? And were my silver jazz shoes — gasp! — too much?
It takes a lot to get me questioning my wardrobe. Until Whoeverhewas ripped my dress to shreds that autumn evening, no one but my mother had the power to make me second-guess my daily outfit. Now, I was suddenly racked with theories. I couldn’t help but wonder if being a woman of style, rather than a selling point, was more of a burden. Not that I cared much. Anyone who doesn’t respect my new metallic car coat is of no interest to me anyway. But still – what about the bigger picture? What of the women who do care and the men whose opinions they care about?
I hassled my male friends about it, assuming once again the courageous role of fashion anthropologist. Of dresses, one friend said, “They scare me. They make me think of weddings or something,” while another gushed, “They’re all right.” And on the high-waisted silhouette, one friend succinctly pointed out that “they make a girl seem serious, which is intimidating. A lower waist is more casual.” I was impressed by how deeply they considered clothing — but alarmed at the same time. How could I have known that all this time, men were reading so far into my outfits that by the time we exchanged a “hello” they had established a full psychological profile of me?
So it isn’t a matter of taste so much as it’s a matter of the psychology behind fashion, because meaning is perceived, not purveyed. No matter what you think you’re saying with fashion, what people hear will be different. Your adorable eyelet pinafore sundress might seem sweet and lovely to you, but foolish men might see it as creepily infantile. While tapered, acid wash jeans with ribcage-skimming waistbands might be your way of paying homage to ’80s punk revival (again), they might elicit images of mom jeans to guys who associate you with the woman in their lives who wore them first. What could they possibly think of Ugg boots?
Of course, all fabulous women of intelligence say never to change for men, and that includes your wardrobe. Because what’s the point? Relationships last months, while a good pair of quality jeans can last decades if you use the right laundry detergent. Dresses won’t cheat on you (especially if you don’t lend them to your friends), jackets will keep you warm during a night on the town no matter where you drag them and jeans — thanks to the invention of Lycra — will always love you back.
My solution to the fashion identity crisis? Don’t compromise — just replace men with fashion.
Lauren Rodrigue, a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at [email protected].
