My childhood has been a mirage of plaid skirts and jumpers, collared white shirts and knee-high socks. Heck, I even owned a matching plaid scrunchie.
I attended grade school and high school in institutions that had uniforms. In other words, I spent 13 years of my life not having to consider what to wear every day.
Imagine my panic when I came to college.
While contemplating what to wear for my freshman year, I recalled my older sister telling me that I needed to stop wearing T-shirts, which only contributed to my internal chaos. No T-shirts? Those were my only safe options; what else was I supposed to do?
I think I owned a total of two shirts that weren’t given to me for free from high school events. Thus, I spent that summer searching clearance sections to build a wardrobe that wouldn’t make me feel like a complete impostor.
I even missed the loathsome uniforms. I craved that feeling of ease in my own skin, and I missed not worrying what other people thought of my clothes.
While we may live in the 21st century, ‘90s movies set in high schools have given me the unshakeable fear that clothing is a sign of status. I didn’t know how to dress like a cool girl, so I felt that I had no choice but to settle into the role of dweeb in an oversize T-shirt and leggings.
I wondered why I should even try to dress well if the end result was going to be the same. I then remembered the age-old saying — “Don’t pay attention to what other people think of you.”
I’d finally found something I could get behind. It didn’t matter if I dressed well or not because I didn’t care what other people thought of me.
If it isn’t clear, this was only a pretense for me. I hated that all my clothing looked like hand-me-downs. I hated that none of my clothes matched, and when I did attempt to make a match, it never turned out the way I wanted it to.
I had to give myself a pep talk. I was losing to inanimate pieces of fabric. I had to be smarter than fabric.
This is when I discovered the magic of matching clothes. Not in the way that I had before, but in a slightly elevated way. I found that I liked the look of only matching two items of clothing. It looks pretty casual if I wear a red shirt and red shoes, but a pair of jean shorts to break it up. I could wear a white tank top with green accents and green shorts and look quite put together.
This is where I discovered the power of clothing. It’s a tool that everyone can use, not just models or social media gurus.
Firstly, clothes are an easy way to boost your self-esteem. Think about it — you feel different wearing a prom dress or a tuxedo than you do eating Cheetos on the couch in your old sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. A study found that the clothing you wear can affect your cognitive function by heightening your abstract thinking.
Clothing matters. During the height of the pandemic, it was difficult having nothing to dress up for, so people made their own special occasions to get fancy. Some people had classy dinners over Zoom. I know that I was wearing a floor-length dress when my sister got married over video call. There’s just something about putting on fancy clothes.
Furthermore, clothing can be a method of communication to a certain extent. There’s a saying that goes, “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” Culturally, different attire is appropriate for different occasions.
If you show up to a job interview wearing a blazer, your potential employers will know that you’re serious. When you take the time to think about what you’re wearing, people will interpret that thoughtfulness as something that will translate to your work on the job.
The translation of clothing to intentions might occur for many reasons. My interpretation is that formal clothing is more expensive and often harder to wash, so it can show commitment to a cause as well as poise and even status.
There are limits, however, to what we can communicate with clothing. Clothes are never consent, and what someone is wearing doesn’t invite romantic attraction or objectifying comments. You’re allowed to dress for yourself, not for the appreciation of other people.
Back on the subject of expression though, it’s common knowledge that clothes can be an extension of our personality. What I would wear is bound to be different than what other people would wear because, fundamentally, we are different people.
For example, I’m currently fond of button-up shirts with dad vibes. At the Husker game on Saturday, I saw a guy wearing a red-and-white Hawaiian shirt, and I turned to my roommate, pointed at the shirt and said, “I need it.”
However, while some people can pull off form-fitting crop tops and tennis skirts, I will never own either. I’ve tried both and can’t stand how they look on me, or more importantly, how they make me feel. I think they look great on other people, but to me, it feels like playing dress-up with someone else’s clothes. I feel like an impostor or someone wearing a costume. It isn’t quite right for me, and that’s OK.
I’ve been told that dressing well takes too much time, effort and money to be as useful of a tool as I make it out to be. I disagree wholeheartedly. My favorite shirt was $4 at Goodwill, and I simply dress according to the weather. Hot temperatures mean I go for a tank top, but a chilly breeze means I need to snag a jacket. I follow my matching rule on days where dressing up feels like too much. It’s easy to make dressing well manageable, and the benefits are well worth it.
You don’t have to look good in a conventional sense. What matters is that you feel confident and comfortable in your clothing. It can transform your body language, and I think everyone can agree that confidence and self-assurance is attractive.
I sometimes look back at pictures of myself wearing my favorite outfits when I was younger, and I cringe a little inside, but I have to stop myself. I know that I felt like a million bucks when I was wearing that matching dress and headband. At the end of the day, that’s what matters.
Rylee Gregg is a sophomore English and Spanish double major. Reach her at ryleegregg@dailynebraskan.com.
