Style and Its Endless Substance
The interlocking of self and style
Some time after I came out to my parents, via passionate email, I stumbled into a fascination with aesthetic expression. In large part due to the pervasive influence of online communities which provided me with immense comfort during times of personal uncertainty, namely TikTok. I became turbo fueled by my fresh-out-of-the-closet desire to release myself from any and all performative elements of my persona (both internal and external). To put it plainly, my presentational facets were no longer serving me. I dressed like I did when I refused to know or accept myself. Now, granted, what I was wearing at the time was certainly in the ballpark of what I gravitate toward now, but it was nowhere near as refined. Something felt off. This feeling, egged on by a constant flow of comparative material at finger scrolling reach, quickly grew strong enough for me to take action.
Throughout the past 3 years I have spent significant, often extraneous, efforts cultivating my personal style—refining my garment-equilibrium through a tedious cycle of guess & check. This cycle has seen me discard large varieties of pants, shirts, shoes, jackets and accessories of varying silhouettes, fabrics and colors to land on a prevailing classification of my preferences. I, in fact, became so invested in stylistic expression that I developed something of an addiction, thrusted into renown by my expansive and ever-growing catalog of personal taste on Pinterest, the app I log the most hours on without fail as I flood it with not only the items from my wardrobe but the specific style “rules” I have deemed integral to my style methodology. <This part was the most extra>. This proved to be an hyperfixation that came as the natural consequence to seeking the truest version of myself. It began with taking such meaningful claim on my identity back in 2021 and after officially coming out of the closet, I entered another, which would produce opposite effects —> strengthening my sense of identity with every item I sport providing me a gateway to a robust me.
Style is often considered one of the most surefire gateways to declare identity and thus community, but that’s not exactly its function in practice. Fashion journalist Bliss Foster outlines the paradox of personal style as it relates to intention. While many have become convinced that precision in personal stylist will allow you to express your identity and interests with the utmost force, if you surveyed any number of onlookers to your chosen attire, you would find it impossible to extract a jumble of words from them that resembled anything close to what you intended to express about yourself. The truth is, our identities are entirely nuanced, completely unable to be pinned down by a well thought out combination of accessories. So what does style really grant access to? Simple answer. AGENCY. While our unique characteristics can’t truly be derived from our clothes, a colloquial message of aesthetic or practical translation can. A purpose that we can all discern, and thus formulate community around. But even more substantial to both the importance of style and the community it creates is the mutual connection that clothing as an art form can provide its fanatic consumer. As wonderfully put in Bliss Foster’s YouTube video essay When Personal Style Isn’t Personal, “when you find a piece of art that communicates the exact thing that you’re feeling, it makes you feel less alone.” Otherwise known as the “shock of recognition” , coined by Herman Mellville, this feeling is a sort of gut-punching glee. A promising embrace. This is what marks our profound relationship with art…and clothes specifically present a uniquely embodied level of access to that recognition. The shock of recognition is most commonly enjoyed during television, film or music consumption, when a character, circumstance or lyric relates directly to the viewer, but when it comes to clothes, the application is much more complex. “That world is not simply one that you visit for the duration of a movie or for the length of a song and then the spell is broken.” Clothes are not us, they are “an accessory” of us.” They are the supplemental materials that help to create a recognition of self within us (gleaned from what drew us to it) of the selves we want to see. And when we sport a piece that fulfills that end, wearing it over and over until it becomes an integral part of our routine, we become “collaborative contributors” to its vision.
As my confidence surrounding my sexuality thickened and matured in taste, so did my style, leading me to exist in a stew of my own making. And a flavorsome one at that.
My obsession with style was no doubt born out of the false conception of style that says what I wear tells people who I am, but it satisfied a properly defined purpose: an outlet through which I can experience connection, not just to myself but with community as I join circles with those who appreciate the same qualities that I do, in style and self.
What I once thought useful to hide from the world has proliferated into a means of visibility and self-affirmation I could not envision myself without.
