Does Our Internal Landscape Influence the Way We Dress, and Vice Versa?
Exploring a sartorial "chicken or the egg" situation.
April 2025 was a tough month in my personal life. That’s all the detail I need to share - how and what happened aren’t important here, other than to demonstrate that I faced a number of very trying, very challenging circumstances in April, and it showed. My face was drawn, pale and wan. My posture wasn’t good. But the most noticeable change in the month of April was in the way I dressed; more accurately, in the ways I stopped caring about dressing. Which got me thinking: Do we dress based on what’s happening inside, or does what’s happening inside influence the way we dress?
Sweatpants come to mind here: Karl Lagerfeld famously said, “"Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants." I sort of agree with him — I know sweats, sweat suits and lounge clothes are having a moment right now (we’ve come full circle from the Juicy Couture velour sweatsuits of my middle school years) but take away their current trendiness, and sweats are a sign of defeat: When clothing is too constrictive or uncomfortable to be put up with, slip on sweats. When your emotions are so powerful and make you so sensitive that the extra sensory input from clothing is too much, put on a baggy sweatshirt. I’ve been there. I basically lived in sweats in April.
Each morning, I drive to my local coffee shop and order an iced Americano with a splash of almond milk. I’ve been doing this ritualistically for about a year and a half. In April, I could tell I was in a dressing slump by how the baristas I see every morning reacted to me. Typically if I leave the house, I put effort into what I’m wearing. I have a few personal rules: No wearing pajamas as pants. No wearing workout gear unless I actually work out. No wearing the same outfit multiple days in a row out of sheer laziness. These are usually easy to follow rules, and on many mornings, my barista friends and I chat clothes, accessories and other personal style-related topics with gusto. But in April, when I broke all my rules and didn’t put any effort into what I chose to wear, I could see the concern on the faces of the baristas I see more than most of my friends. I was having a hard time, and although I barely know these women outside of the confines of the coffee shop we all spend a lot of time in, they could tell I was struggling simply by what I wore.
For those that don’t put as much emotion into what they wear as I do, this observation could come off as pretty shallow — a hyper-fixation on how I look, and what others think of me as a result. But I’m not arguing for vanity here: I’m arguing for self-respect.
Getting dressed is an art form. It’s creative, stimulating, and varies day-by-day. I would also say it’s one of the most emotionally charged daily rituals we all partake in. Clothing doesn’t simply protect us from the elements or keep us in line with society’s expectations around nudity — clothing is deeply personal. Whether we like it or not, what we wear says something — many things, I would argue — about how we see ourselves, what is important to us, and of course, the state of our internal emotional landscape.
I’ve noticed this sartorial / emotional mirroring in wardrobe design, as well. In an interview with the costume designer for the latest Bridget Jones film, Bridget Jones, Mad About the Boy, Molly Emma Rowe explains how Bridget’s clothing portrays her emotional arc through the story: “When we meet Bridget in the film, she’s very, very deep in her grief, so we stripped out a lot of colors. We put her in a lot of very comfortable track pants and pajamas and Birkenstocks, things like that. Then, throughout the film, we brought her back to life. When she goes on her first date with Roxster [Leo Woodall], we chose this short floral wrap dress. It feels very feminine, it feels quite Bridget.”
In one of my top-3 favorite movies of all time, When Harry Met Sally, (the backdrop! the wardrobe! the dialogue!) this is very apparent as we witness Sally’s emotional arc in the film. For almost the entirety of the movie, Sally’s outfits are casually elegant, composed and chic (and menswear-inspired and unique… I could go on).
It’s only when we see her stricken by grief at the news of her ex-boyfriend’s impending nuptials that Sally is driven to the solace of a fluffy pink bathrobe, messy hair and a big box of tissues.
By the end of the film, once everything is resolved, Sally is back to her put-together ways.
This isn’t about conceit, self-admiration or needing to gain the approval of others. It’s about how we express ourselves when we haven’t said a word.
I can tell I’m happy when getting dressed feels like playing: I come up with novel combinations I’ve never tried before: monochromatic dressing. Wearing the “wrong shoes”. Combining technical hiking gear with strappy sandals. The list goes on and on. When my emotions are regulated, my dressing flourishes, as does my confidence. While I can zero in on how my personal style fluctuates in periods of happiness and ease, the inverse is even more noticeable to myself and others. When I’m sad, the sweats move beyond the confines of my home. Everything gets looser, drabber, and instead of picking out my favorite hat and accessories for the day, I throw my hair into a high bun and wear my sunglasses inside.
But sometimes I wonder: Do the emotions affect what I’m wearing, or does what I’m wearing prolong my emotions? For instance, I haven’t tried wearing bright colors when I am really sad, or putting on my best dress when I’m lonely, or fixed my hair up when I’m feeling stressed. But what if I did? Would the mood pass sooner? I’ve already demonstrated how much influence my emotions have on my clothing choices, but what if my clothing choices exert just as much power over my emotions?
Next time I get in a funk, I guess I’ll break out my favorite shoes, jeans and accessories and see what happens.