Seven Days in Sweats

Why Clothes Matter
From the Blog of: Christa Taylor
Writer and guest blogger Margaret Everton conducts a week-long experiment on why we really are what we wear.

I will never forget my middle school tennis partner who, before one morning bell, professed, “The clothes don’t make the person; the person makes the clothes.” The aloofness was cool, the adage wise. But she didn’t believe herself. I knew how many outfits she had tried on that morning.

I didn’t believe her either, and scoffed for years at such trivialization of the role that attire plays—yet I wonder. Am I putting too much emphasis on the impact that clothes can have? As long as I look clean and covered, how can clothes determine how I navigate through this world? As a freelance writer, I can wear whatever I want. So I will. I will document one week of my life wearing only my black track suit to determine if what I wear matters.

DAY 1
Track suits are underrated. Slimming, collar up: I’m Jackie Kennedy ready for tennis. Refreshing to put no effort into myself. This could become my uniform. I feel fine. I think I’ll get tea.

DAY 2
Husband: Do you have a cold? [Glancing at my outfit]
Me: No. This might be my new uniform. Might be the new me. It’s function-meets-comfort.
Husband: Meets pajamas.

DAY 3
Slouch clothes. Fun for the ol’ college slouch day. Not so fun when I’m trying to feel professional and serious on a phone interview I’m conducting.

DAY 4
What are the odds that this week I run into a girl from high school? Former rival dancer now guest lecturer at the local university. And I had wanted to appear so on top of the world if ever we reunited. Did I detect smugness in her smile? Seriously, what are the odds?

DAY 5
I’ve been in this clothing store for ten minutes and no employee has approached me. I’m invisible, unkempt. A woman with poise (and a killer pink scarf) just entered—she owns the room. Like moths to a flame, the three employees approach her. I slink away between two racks of sweaters and leave the store.

DAY 6
Groceries. Tea and—nooooooo. The wife of my husband’s colleague. She can’t see me like this: sloppy, not on top of my game enough to match her lawyer-turned-stay-at-home-mom intelligence and verbal wit. Jeans, boots, cream sweater—her simplicity approaches brilliance. Turn away. I can hang at the back of the store until she leaves. Drop the tea and walk slowly away. No, drop the tea and run.

DAY 7
The end of the day and the experiment is finally over. Jeans, blouse, vintage satin clutch for dinner with my husband. Wow, he says, you look amazing. Confidently I enter the restaurant. A woman taken seriously. I admit that I expected to determine that clothes do matter, but I didn’t anticipate to discover why. Conscious dressing can get bad press as materialism exemplified, but clothes that reflect our identity boost our confidence. Whether we’re most at home in a wool gabardine suit and heels or yoga pants and a tank, we should represent our most authentic self. To any onlooker, I’m just a girl in a shirt, but I sip my Pellegrino and feel like a supermodel. Nobody in the room cares about what I have on; it wouldn’t alter their evening if I still had on my track suit. But it matters. It matters to me.

Clothes Matter, Simplified:
*Well-fitting tailored jeans cover a multitude of sartorial sins.
*Sunglasses and a scarf or hat transform Bad Hair No Makeup Girl into Jackie Kennedy look-alike.
*Voguish purses or shoes exhibit attention to detail and respect for self.
*Vintage costume jewelry creates a uniqueness to an average ensemble.
*A wrap can be a signature piece that serves as a shawl or scarf (and ups the ante) for several
outfits.
*Yes, track suits give grace to those quick errands, that early brunch, or those “off days.”
Just do yourself a favor and don’t wear it seven days in a row.

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