Style Gone Wild

Tonight I had dinner in a small Thai restaurant in Chicago, and across from me sat a plump, twentysomething Asian woman with small animals hanging from her ears. I couldn't tell what type of animals they were—possibly pandas or cats or dogs, as they were bright black-and-white. She also wore a golfer's cap, a fluffy vest knitted in rainbow yarns, a short checkered skirt, and brightly colored tights. She carried a large bag with multicolored pictures of little animals all over it—again, I couldn't tell what kind of animals, but that's beside the point.

I like my style; I've learned over time how to choose clothes that flatter my form and suit my taste. But where did that taste originate? In part from my upbringing: my mother has always been so neurotic about her clothing's matchiness that she rarely buys anything that's not black, white, or gray. (The occasional red or burgundy sweater sneaks in.) Far from rebelling against my mom's fashion sense, I nurtured the same neurosis, my penchant for wearing all black and my membership in the theater geek club perhaps having been a chicken and egg situation. Only in recent years have I opened up to playing with color in my wardrobe and mixing tones that don't traditionally "match."

But my newly independent style still isn't an all-inclusive, anything-goes style. I have veered in directions that just plain didn't work: ruffles, pinks, poufy sleeves, and other girly embellishments made their way to the Salvation Army within months. So what is it about tailored menswear-like attire that "fits" me so well? Does it relate to my personality? Is it hormonal, a sign of my place on the male-to-female gender spectrum, like my love of baseball and old Westerns?

Our clothes, of course, affect not only our self-perception but other people's perceptions of us. I knew nothing about the woman in the Thai restaurant aside from her dress, yet I formed a strong sense of her personality and even her lifestyle based on it. The garments we use to cover our nakedness express that personality and lifestyle information in a flawed shorthand.

If I went to Thanksgiving dinner this year in an Outfit of Many Colors, with big, bright earrings and neon tights, my extended family would think something had gone horribly wrong—not only in my closet but also in my head. My coworkers and friends would react similarly. It would be fun to go crazy with clothes on occasion; spending a day in a different fashion persona would be like spending a day with a different personality—freeing and false, enlightening and disconcerting. Would the woman with the animals hanging from her ears like to spend a day in basic black pants and a gray sweater? And if she did, would those who know her think something was wrong—or would basic black be just another notch on her neon-pink, patent leather belt?