The problem with dresses
Learning to be well-tended, not well-presented
This week, I’ve set myself the task of buying a dress. I have two big events looming - a wedding and my own anniversary party - and I’m determined, for once, not to leave it too late.
I used to find this kind of thing incredibly easy. Clothes were fun in my teens and twenties, a playful interaction with colour and form. Nowadays, that relationship has turned fraught. My body has changed, but my desire to be visible has changed even more. Whatever I wear in public, I suffer pangs of remorse the next day. Clothes feel like the domain of other people.
Like Sam Baker, I rely day-to-day on a comfortable uniform, reaching for exactly the same clothes each morning. It relieves me of the burden of decision-making, and frees up my mind to think about other things. I wonder if this makes it worse when I have to make a choice: I’m out of the habit. I just want to get dressed and get on with my day.
The sheer scope of that choice is a problem. Where I used to be limited to a few shops, I am now confronted with the vastness of the internet, hundreds and hundreds of stores and their contents, with nothing ever striking me as exactly right. I keep getting stuck in hour-long loops of scrolling without ever buying anything.
I don’t really want any of it. The stuff that’s marketed to me - and which comes in my size - seems like the business of older women because in my head I’m still 23, and thin, and a little bit sparkly. Am I ready for the linens and blazers, the belted dresses and neat collars? I don’t think so. But then neither am primed for bodycon or boho. I’m full of petty prejudices about certain styles, dragged with me from childhood. My mother told me to never wear a shirtwaister, and I’m not really sure why, but I stick to it all the same. The shops are full of tiered skirts, and I do not wear those for reasons I couldn’t truly explain. I have never worn spaghetti straps, and I’m not sure I could change now if I wanted to.
Every garment asks a different question of the self. Who am I now? What kind of clothes does this person wear? I’m not sure I know anymore. I’m tired of projecting anything at all. I’ve been glad to walk away from that in my middle years: the constant striving and reinvention, the sense that I need to somehow define myself in clear terms. I am now, quite comfortably, an undefined cloud of myself. I live inside my own head, and I’ve happily left behind the notion that I need to impress anyone with how I look.
In the past few years, I’ve begun to focus more on how my body feels than how it looks. I’ve learned to engage my senses again, to please them rather than suppress them. Instead of buying new clothes, I have massages instead. I invest good money in repairable woollen socks and shoes that let me spread my toes. I swim instead of run. I’ve been working hard to break the traumatic cycle of dieting, to come to terms with what it really means to live with a lifetime of disordered eating. I am looking after my insides rather than disciplining my facade. I want to learn to be a well-tended woman, not a visually perfect one.
And yet here I am, being dragged back into my outside body again, the one that is visible to other people. I don’t entirely like that feeling, but then again, maybe it’s another part of the process. This comfortable, well-tended body is nothing if it can’t be seen in public. I’m glad of the body positivity movement, but I also know it’s not for me. I’m not bothered about feeling beautiful, or sexy, or fashionable; I just want to be allowed to feel neutral when I go out into the world, to be visible only as a person, rather than as a ‘look’.
There’s little hope of that, though, because I’m still slightly beguiled by those clothes, even if they’re never made with me in mind. I still believe, as I scroll and scroll and scroll, that I’ll find the one true dress that will make sense of me.
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I think clothes are also a form of communication, a language, and we can use them to tell people that we like ourselves, or maybe that we like colours or patterns, or maybe even tell people what sort of person we are. I think that's why occasion dressing is so difficult - we don't know what we want to say ! Good luck xxx
I struggle with dresses, too. Too tailored and they feel claustrophobic! H&M usually has something that works: loose enough, but interesting and often a bit edgy. It satisfies every age inside me. And now let’s talk about shorts! Does anyone of a certain age find them necessary but also unbearable?