Clothing as Armor

And I started to wonder…. if clothing is our armor, then what are we really protecting ourselves from?

hi hi hello,

Today we’re diving into how styling has served as my lifeline over the past year — grief, hope, expression, distraction, and healing can be worn on the face but also draped across the body.

I’ve really started to contemplate the nuances of my personal style, its history, and genesis. My why, and what I’ve collected along the way. While I believe taste is inherently intuitive, I still adhere to the belief you can train the eye. But you can’t ingrain your why in someone else. I can walk you though my process; show you big-slim-skin, sandwich method, monochromatic and maximalist outfits; and attempt to trace the roots of why I love getting dressed. I wholeheartedly approach styling with one core principle, plumb line, guiding light, whatever you fancy: clothing is armor. Let’s dive in.

I’m coming up on one year of postgrad, which honestly just feels like a derogatory term at this point. For about the past month or so, I’ve been Mayor of Spiral City about the fact that almost a year has come and gone since my world cracked and I feel as though it was simultaneously yesterday and a lifetime ago. Help, I’m still at the restaurant.

*editors note* — Clothing as armor has found its seed in my high school experience, I wanted a buffer for people to encounter before they truly saw me. Its a distraction that breeds conversation.

As I was collecting stylistic evidence, I realized armor took on a myriad of definitions for me over the past year. It has grown with me to compliment my season of life. Clothing has been my armor as its served as—

• A layer of defense

• A buffer / intermediary

• Self expression

After graduating, I lost the two most important relationships in my life within a span of 2 months, both in an abrupt and unexpected way. I was gutted, numb, yearning for my old life that I thought I would be forever. Getting dressed was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to be invisible.

I was nosediving through quicksand — “oh shit my anti-capsule wardrobe (hi mags ily) is all statement pieces that attract attention. My clothes warrant discussion. If I wear them it will make people notice me, see my drooping eyes, heavy body; they’ll know something is wrong. I don’t want to attract attention, people ask questions, judge, pry. Statement pieces are an invitation for conversation. Oh dear God my life has become an open book.”

And I started to wonder…. if clothing is our armor, then what are we really protecting ourselves from—judgment, vulnerability, or simply the fear of being seen as we truly are?

Although I did not notice at the time, in retrospect my choice of outfits, jewelry, shoes, all of it is a direct reflection of how I’m doing on the inside. I shed my jewelry. I stopped wearing makeup. My sleep was medicated and outfits unmotivated. Granted I was in Louisiana all summer, with whats left of my high school closet, there were slim pickings. It didn’t matter anyways because for the first time in my life, I did not give a singular flying fuck about what I put on my body. I have little to no documentation of my outfits from June - July. So we will pick up in mid August…

So, bear with me, August rolls around, I return to LA, and the only thing the same in my life is my car. I don’t resonate with LA anymore. My old life haunts me. I yearn for what my life looked like in May. Here you’ll see evidence of armor in the context of self expression, no statement pieces, no attention to the self, no invitation for conversation or question. Fly under the radar. Peel myself from my bed. Make it through the day. Go to the bathroom at work without crying. Sit in an hour of traffic each way in silence. Learn a new normal. Whatever. Life goes on. And it did, but I didn’t. God instilled many things in me and one of them is crippling nostalgia. August - December is a bit of a blur. My friends tried but I wouldn’t hear it, watch me daily disappearing is a great background song for these looks.

When I look back at my outfits, there are uninspired, lacking in nuance, played safe. Clothing as armor here was purely defensive to cloak my rapidly declining mental state. Thats not to say I didn’t have wonderful, fulfilling and healing days in the fall. People come along, and their love keeps your head above water. You see the light, you laugh and your cheeks hurt from their jokes instead of from your tears. Some loves are a lifeline, not only because they save you but because they gently return you to yourself before devastation made you forget.

I feel calm with them, safe, free to dress how I really want to because they already know me. They know I’m in the pits. Thats when you see in these looks from the fall that reflect the safety I felt with my friends. More exploratory looks that are more my true speed, personality, maximalism, character. As shown below.

As we transitioned into the winter holidays, clothing as armor evolved into a buffer and intermediary. My outfits were an opt in to comment on rather than God FORBID someone asks me how I’m doing. For the love of God don’t ask how p*stgrad is.

As I began to find my footing again in the new year, you see pattern and texture reintroduced to my looks. Color seeps in, silhouettes get more fitted, I’m taking stylistic risks again. My personality is showing - she’s thawing!!!! My oldest friend breathed anew life back into me. I felt safe. Secure to express and visualize pent up creative energy. I began wearing outfits that felt like me again. And all of a sudden, clothing as armor became an intercessor for what I want to say to the world. Pieces that say “Hi I’m still me, the last year rocked and robbed me but look what has sprouted inside of me.” Shown below.

BOOM knocked back down — grief isn’t linear and my closet was working overtime to mask that. Back to monochromatic, baggy distractions. Shown below.

And then your friends breathe you back to life again. Their patience, their time, their intentionality, their hugs, their consistency. You’re still you, and you feel all right to express yourself.

Spring blooms and you begin experimenting stylistically again. Your outfits are full of texture, color, personality. The ice melts away from your heart and your confidence peeks through. Shown below.

Doors swing wide open, the sun comes up again. You can see this in my outfits — my stylistic choices are daring, playful, exciting, refreshing, juxtaposed, a reflection of the acceptance and safety I feel in this new season.

Thats not to say I didn’t cry every day for the last 2 weeks. But it is to say clothing defended me for the past year. From online judgement, and from being seen in the state I truly was (am) in. It distracted, cloaked, expressed, signified, transitioned, and carried me through a year I thought I’d never recover from. Although I wanted my outfits to mask my vulnerability, this Substack unpacking this armor somewhat contracts that. Thats okay though, because vulnerability breeds connection.

Last bit I SWEAR— I was on a walk with the aforementioned oldest friend that did indeed turn survival into something soft. I was talking about the Ship of Thesus — an old philosophical experiment we learned about in a class called Theory of Knowledge in HS. Essentially, a ship belonging to a man named Theseus is preserved in a harbor. Over time, its wooden parts begin to rot and are replaced, piece by piece. Eventually, every single wooden piece on his ship has been replaced. The question then sprouts: Is it still the same ship? At what point is it no longer the original?

The reason I brought this up on our walk was because I felt like the ship. Every piece of my life over the past year has rotted and been replaced. So much so that it made me question: am I still me? Every piece has been updated, but who I was a year ago is a stranger to me.

To which they responded, “I hear you, I understand you and empathize. But each piece that is replaced, just like in the old ship story, still honors the original architecture of the ship. Each slice of your life that has been replaced is in reverence to your original design. When you forget who your architect is, and that they will eternally honor your intended character, thats when you lose the plot, but I fully believe each plank of your life, albeit refreshed, still holds your essence in great respect.”

Now that I’ve beared my soul in 12pt Times New Roman, I gotta run. Hug your people today. Until next time.

xHG