studio reflections is a monthly dispatch of observations from the fitting room of barostudio___. It’s a log of my learnings where I resist the optimised pull of algorithms and document my process in long form. I choose this space to unpack the politics of visual communication via relevant texts, theory, imagery and conversation. I consider dialogue to be my social currency with this project so if you find yourself having opinions about what you read here, I would like to engage with you in the comments or email. If you identify too much with your style or your visual, external self— I wish to humour you with this essay. It’s a reminder to myself, and by extension you; that you are not how you dress or what aesthetic preferences you align with. It’s a raw, (probably) improperly punctuated account of how I talked myself out of my head.
At the risk of sounding a bit too blunt, I want to make a case for ‘lack of style’. These thoughts have been with me for some time and while they’re nice and niche to chat over a coffee or an intellectually studded environment, it’s really down to business when you’re out in the open with an outfit on that you hate and actually would never wear out in front of people. This is the kind of high-intensity example I recently found myself in. (disclaimer: if you have never felt discomforted by what you have worn out in public, you can skip this read)
A few days ago I was rushing out the door and while my overall outfit was a solid 7/10, I forgot to change out of my bathroom slippers. These slippers are not nearly as glamorous as your Havianas or what have you— they are 2 sizes too big, orthopedic slides passed onto me after my late aunt. I wear them because they feel amazing on my acutely flatfooted arches but I am now sitting in my car with my foot on the brakes thinking, “hmmm what feels different on the pedal…”?
At the traffic signal, I have a daunting realisation that I am indeed in these shoes which I absolutely despise the look of and which can never be redeemed even for a ‘quirky’ look. With each passing kilometer, a sense of panic and doom starts to settle in because I was planning to run some errands and perhaps stop to get my nails done—all places that had a fairly high chance of bumping into people I knew. I was too far from home to go change and I quickly understood that I was stuck with this hospital-esque footwear that was very, not me.
Wait a second.
I think I actually braked at that thought. What was that supposed to mean.
What follows is a stream, rather a list of consciousness for the remainder of my drive:
Embarrassment: for risking being seen in this combination of an outfit.
Shame: for feeling embarrassed. After the sour pinch of embarrassment, I felt a dull ache of shame. How could I, out of all people, who professes so much about dropping the weight of identifying with labels or notions, do completely the opposite? I started feeling my face getting hot and a very queasy feeling taking over, of being a hypocrite. The shame first came strong, but the more I investigated it (a tough job if you ask me) it started evolving into something much, softer?
Investigating the shame:
What’s the shame about? Of being seen in these shoes? Why does that matter? Because… I have a fashion blog and a clothing line and I am a representative of my brand hence I cannot be seen like this?
What does being seen like this mean to me? Blank.
Why does it matter if I am seen like this? Because if people see me in such poor fashion choices the credibility of my work might be questioned.
Why does that matter? Blank.
Are you really working to make yourself synonymous with your brand, isn’t that the opposite of what you want? Yes!!
Does maybe being in these shoes make you cooler, perhaps more original or edgy? Ah, there you go! The discreet ego trick. No—I am most definitely not spinning this into some normcore illustration trying to make it work in my favour. (By now I was gaining some momentum with my own self-awareness). I was embarrassed yes, it’s a human reaction. But there’s more to this
Ok go on. I am acknowledging this internal non-issue that I am currently facing and I’m realising that this is actually incredibly fascinating.
How so? Because no matter how much I read, meditate or study, I am not trying to approach a pristine state of being. The process is muddy and if I try to put myself above it, I am deluding myself. Attachment and identification with my outer self is my predicament as an experiencer of being human. I am now very much tempted to remain in these awful slippers to challenge that notion of identification. Socially, I want to witness myself in this situation perhaps maybe even feel the heat a little bit.
That sounds nice. In theory. Will you practice it? Feeling the heat? What if you bump into a group of people you know? Yes sure it does sound nice in theory. And I will feel uncomfortable when I see people, women especially, since I pretty much only enjoy dressing up for the females around me. But this situation cannot be hypothesised no matter how well I try to simulate it in my head. It has to be experienced. It is what it is. This is where I stop to get back into the body and out of my head.
This self-inquiry was halted by the arrival of my destination. I went about the day insanely normally, even forgot I had these ortho kicks on, and when I reached home I recounted my exchange with myself just as I was taking these off. While we are seduced into being prepared for any context, we have bought into the myth of fool-proofing everything—from our wardrobe to our pantry. The prescriptive culture for our physical readiness has capped our innate ability to feel for ourselves. Thinking for ourselves is easier, but feeling takes resistance. Some aggression. It means to let the heat get hot.
I think it’s helpful to remind ourselves here and there, that the outwardly perception of our taste is just one exchange that we engage in, as a human. I agree so much with Han and believe that there is an intrinsic narcissistic value that is attached to commodities. And as long as we are using these commodities to help us define ourselves, we will remain sensitive to any blip that may arise in the correct functioning of these tools. The systems of oppression are discreet and fluid and the only way to resist is to step out of intellectualising and piecing together our experience through the lens of success/failure and into the idea that we are a multitude of sensations all at the same time, and maybe the simplest way to be is just to get back into the body. And feel.
My style is just one part of who I am. Nothing is me or not me.
Thoughtfully yours ;)
M
Here’s a playlist for the feels:
Of course you didn’t disappoint. Han would be proud.
what is the name of the book in the end?