I Wore the Same Outfit All of Fashion Week and No One Cared

In Women Fashion 103 views

I’d say I’m extra identified for my general magnificence and ferocious command of English prose (this masterpiece on my bed-sweating conduct will paint you an image of each) than I am for my private dressing taste. This is ok. Over the years I have grown aware of stepping out of the manner of my very fashionable buddies’ paparazzi-captured images all over style weeks — each every so often getting snapped by means of proxy between two buddies with whom I occur to be coordinating and as soon as as a result of I was once in polka dots. But in most cases, in most cases, I’m with politeness unnoticed.

At first, all over the intersection of freshman style week profession and height boulevard taste insanity, I was once reasonably disillusioned no person cared about my moderately decided on outfits. It jogged my memory of going into Abercrombie & Fitch in highschool the place, with out fail, one of my highest buddies would get requested by means of the movie-hot workforce to use for a role, and I would get no-teeth smiled at. Then I were given over it. The Abercrombie factor and the boulevard taste industry.

In the latter case, the days were given too busy to fret about precisely how private I will have to take it that no was once emotionally reworked by means of my layering talents. At the identical time, I was once rising up and right into a comfy position with my taste. Working at Man Repeller helped; adulthood did, too, I assume, as a result of at a undeniable level, “what’s cool” become a ways much less engaging than what made me really feel excellent. This revelation has helped edge my cloth wardrobe nearer and nearer to the one I wish to raise with me into life-hood.

I’m a couple of years into my grand epiphany. Two weeks in the past, I were given cocky about it. During a pitch assembly, I signed myself as much as put on the identical factor on a daily basis for the whole period of style week. I was once dressed in my boyfriend’s military J. McLaughlin sweater, a couple of Tory Sport golfing pants and white Trademark mules with red pom pom fluffs on the feet when I first spoke up, an outfit that was once sealed as my sartorial destiny for the subsequent seven days.

It was once one of the ones issues that started out as humorous and were given out of keep an eye on, rapid. That outfit I simply rattled off? I in reality wore it on the Tuesday earlier than Fashion Week Thursday, and then once more on Wednesday, on-stage, as an Ace Hotel Study Hall panelist. This wasn’t section of the plan, however I figured if I was once going to put on the identical factor for per week, I would possibly as smartly get started in an instant. The unhealthy section of that concept is how I didn’t account for the indisputable fact that public talking in entrance of small-to-medium-sized rooms makes me sweat worse than dozing does, which eradicated my boyfriend’s sweater for the period of this experiment. (Straight to the dry cleaners.) Good factor for everybody: I have no less than 3 different military sweaters.

If you scroll via the slideshow above you’ll see for your self the exciting journey upon which I embarked. What I realized in no time is that for the maximum section, no person spotted that I wore the identical factor. The best one who stuck on is Simon, the Man Repeller boulevard taste photographer. To everybody’s credit score together with my very own, I wore a delicate head-to-toe military outfit — now not precisely statement-making — I switched up the coats, and it’s actually section of Simon’s process to note what folks put on. Still, when I advised my buddies they had been like, “Fun!,” then modified the matter. No one cared. It’s one of the ones issues I knew in idea, however in apply…it made me self-conscious.

I additionally realized simply what number of emotional phases are occupied with dressed in the identical factor for 8 days directly while you’re now not aware of a uniform. They are as follows:

1. Excitement and fable – “I am going to be so productive this week because I won’t have to worry about my clothes.”

2. Confidence and inflated ego – “I am so sophisticated.  I look understated and chic. I have mastered the capsule wardrobe.”

three. Comfort – “I’m so used to this that I will probably only ever wear this outfit going forward.”

four. Slow disgust – “These pants haven’t been washed in six days.”

five. Self-doubt – “Was this a terrible idea? What if everyone thinks I have a weird navy obsession? What if everyone thinks I’m like a kid who doesn’t want to change out of her Halloween costume even though it’s February? What if this was an awful outfit to begin with and everyone thinks I’ve lost my way?”

6. Jealousy – “Screw everyone in their colorful clothes and kookie coats and weird boots that work because they aren’t beholden to one type of pant that only looks good with a few specific shoes!”

7. Resigned boredom and existential angst – “Another day, another blob of navy. I wonder if everyone thinks I work for the United States Post Office. Do I? Who am I? I cannot remember.”

Whoo-ie was once it a adventure. I were given house from Marc Jacobs at 7 p.m. on a Wednesday and have by no means modified so rapid out of garments in my lifestyles. I had a dinner reservation at eight and spent 45 mins making an attempt on each statement-making, colourful and season-inappropriate merchandise in my closet simply because I may; I forgot how a laugh the act of getting dressed may also be.

The subsequent morning, Thursday — day one of New York’s return-to-normal week — I awoke excited to place on an outfit. It was once not anything loopy, only a sweater I generally tend to avoid wasting for events and new denims I hadn’t fairly found out learn how to put on but, or with what. I was once virtually operating overdue, too, but even with the time crunch, there was once one thing meditative quite than disturbing about the procedure.

Maybe all I wanted was once a holiday from hemming and hawing over hem lengths and their more than a few relationships to the ankle-heights of my boots. Maybe all I wanted was once a brilliant, neon reminder that, in phrases of what I put on, style week or now not, “Hey Amelia: NO ONE CARES.”

I care, of direction. And that’s the place the a laugh section of getting dressed occurs.

Photos by the use of Amelia Diamond.

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