DID THE PANDEMIC END PERSONAL STYLE?

Lockdown has left me in a sartorial stasis. Every morning the same garments are reached for - typically some old jogging bottoms and oversized turtleneck jumper. Having refused to invest in comfy clothes despite being predominantly marooned at home, and yet not having the gusto to muster getting in any way dressed up, has resulted in a drought of inspiration, and newfound feelings of guilt, for even lamenting my loss of personal style.

Dressing has always been intrinsically emotional for me. I have rationalised that this is why I am rubbish at packing for trips away, or why deciding upon outfits the night before has never proven successful for me. The resultant outfits feel wrong, never befitting my emotional/mental/hormonal state (or weather) of that day. Some days warrant clothing as armour, some days clothing is decoration, some days clothing is merely a requirement. But everyday is different. Or at least was different. Life at home eradicates many of the variables that previously formed my day, as merely inconsequential.

Recently this ‘going through the motions’ means of dressing has become the norm. Consistently getting up and seeing no one, has had somewhat of a devastating affect on my personal style. Something that until recently I had never doubted and had relied upon to buoy me through many a bout of self-doubt. As a young child, I was as inspired by my favourite pop stars’ outfits as I was by their lyrics.

Posh Spice’s LBD was one of the first looks I coveted, though appropriating said black dress was tricky being a child of six years old... As I grew up, I became obsessed with the uniformed colour ways of ‘Steps’ and terrorised my siblings and cousins with my insistence on monotone dressing whilst we performed their greatest hits. Luckily drawing inspiration from pop stars stopped before the age of Xtina’s chaps.

Though my tyrannical insistence on redressing family members petered out as I grew older, my way of dressing being informed by my interests and surroundings has long since continued. Until 2020 hit and life became a series of surviving various lockdowns and socialising from a distanced stance, all whilst navigating the ongoing threat of the virus. Regular inspiration had thus been removed, not dressing in relation or retaliation to anything other than what’s clean, seemed a pointless exertion of energy and set in the current circumstances, a little gauche. 

As much as I am still compelled by the same incentives (sequins, textures, jewellery etc), these seem incongruous with the current climate. The icy weather of past Decembers, would have previously been met with my leopard faux fur coat. However, the dust jacket has remained firmly placed, as the flamboyancy seems absurd when daily activities have a 6pm curfew and amount to little more than a trip to the supermarket, and on special occasions, a cafe. When life is so serious, it seems insensitive for fashion to be fun, rather a focus on practicality in all aspects of life seems appropriate.

Previously, external factors were internalised to create outfits that were visual interpretations of how I saw the world. Now, with the stimuli being only that of my imagination (which is informed daily by news inciting further fear and uncertainty), the outfits are purely perfunctory. Though fashion had always been a companion of comfort and at times a coping mechanism, it had now become estranged, losing it’s significance as anything other than a means of keeping warm.

Yet a story shared via Instagram asserted the idea of getting dressed for fun in any circumstance. It was an interview with Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen, who was as brilliantly flamboyant and eccentric as I remembered him. He spoke of dressing up more in lockdown than he did before it, likening his and his family’s looks to those of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Most pertinently, he questioned the motives for getting dressed: to “hide your genitalia” or “to indulge yet another facet of your fascinating multi-hued personality?” 

I began thinking about my motives for dressing previous to the pandemic and whilst some were founded on practical considerations, predominantly it was what I fancied on any particular day. And though this has been tempered somewhat, the essence of what spurred my inspiration remains the same. I just needed to devise a means of reconciling my love of fashion with the current situation, in the hopes of resurrecting my flailing personal style. 

I continued to waver, until one day, I saw a girl wearing a cow print jacket whilst walking her dog. It was a perfectly mundane task, performed probably routinely, yet her outfit didn’t reflect the sameness of this action. Instead it was at total odds in its flamboyancy. And perhaps most surprisingly of all, my reaction to this outfit was not contempt that she dared wear something so contradictory to the setting we all find ourselves in. My reaction was one of joy - she brought a smile to my face.

This brazen statement of personal style awoke what had been laying dormant for the past 10 months; a wont to get dressed and not just for modesty’s sake, but because in spite of the pandemic raging on, life still needs to be lived. Things look gloomy enough, without the addition of morose fashions that do little but to remind of this era of covid. 

This cow print jacket reminded me that the smallest thing can bring about a reaction that offers a respite from the overwhelming uncertainty of now. Whether it induce a smile or a double take, or just the satisfaction of rekindling ones own personal style. And although an outfit won’t change the world - the news will still report on the devastation of this year whether I remain in my pyjamas or not - it may change your day, or even some else’s. 

(Photos via: Pinterest, @lucywilliams & @tamumcpherson)