Lessons From A Style Icon... Me, Aged Nine

I originally intended this post to be a light-hearted and humorous look at my childhood fashion sense, but when I broke out my mum's photo albums to get some ideas, I was surprised to find that to the eyes of my adult self, I wasn't the style disaster I seemed to remember. With one or two exceptions, notably when I started to approach my teen years and started to seek out weird items for the sake of weirdness itself, I actually really liked the items my younger self chose and the way I put them together.

I started to think, perhaps the problem isn't my tendency to drift towards the quirky and eclectic, but simply the fact that I haven't allowed that inner style to grow and mature. I seem to think the options are 'dress exactly as I would have dressed circa age ten' or 'morph into someone else'. I wondered, would it not be possible to take such style staples as tie dye dungarees, paisley harem pants and bags made of rainbow fun fur, and use them to create a look that is just a little more polished... but still, essentially, me? I've been trying to make myself stay the same as I would have at eighteen (or even eight), but eight-year-old me would have relished the opportunities I have as a grown woman to expand my repertoire, style different things in different ways, be elegant or glamorous. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to stagnate out of fear and self-consciousness. I feel like it's time for me to accept my true tastes on the one hand, but also to let myself grow and appreciate the stage of life I'm in.

My childhood outfits and individual item choices were not nearly as bad as I had thought. The problems, such as they were, only came when my criteria changed from a simple 'I like this', to 'this is really weird, I'd better get it'. This is similar to something I find myself doing now when I worry about whether my look is still recognizably 'alternative'. So the lesson for me here is to let these kinds of distinctions go, and to recentre the simple question, 'how much do I really like it?'. 

One thing I really miss from my childhood outfits was that I didn't ever feel like I often do now, as though there's a right and a wrong way to put together an outfit. Sometimes I find this feeling so paralyzing that instead I don't bother and just sling on whatever's clean. It's not so much a feeling that other people will judge me, but that I can never quite reach an image in my head, so that however hard I try, I can still catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and feel gut-punched - all that time on hair, make-up and styling and I still don't like the way I look. Why make the effort, if I'm going to feel rubbish anyway? 

Yet as a younger person, I always enjoyed the outfits I put together and felt like a badass in them. So why had I developed this negative perception of my own style and stopped trusting my own judgement on clothes? I can't say for sure, but I do remember that secondary school was a bit of a shock to the system. Before that I had muddled along happily enough in a village primary that wasn't really big enough to have an 'in crowd' and an 'out crowd'. My taste was already verging on the wacky - I do remember turning up to a school fete, aged nine or ten, with crimped hair, silver-blue lipstick, gold moon and star earrings, hiking boots, and a black faux leather high-collared mini dress with a chunky zip down the front. I don't remember anyone commenting, either, which tells me I might already have had a reputation for somewhat theatrical outfit choices. I love the confidence I had back then. I thought I looked cool in what I was wearing so I just assumed that everyone else did too.

Secondary school was very different. It turned out that the popular kids didn't much like my look, and whenever I made choices that I thought would impress them, I ended up making it worse. I got this electric blue pleather jacket that I thought was absolutely the bee's knees - it got worn once, as I was laughed out of the cafeteria. So I plumped for the total opposite - a cream corduroy trench - and got picked on for that instead. My hair cuts were even worse. In the early 2000s, I was taking my inspiration from the media I loved, so one summer holiday I opted for the hairstyle Mary Stuart Masterson had in the film Some Kind of Wonderful. I guess my peer group weren't enjoying 80s teen romances during their holidays, as the reaction when we went back to school was... not good. Even some of my friends would ring me up and let me know I'd been seen on the weekend "wearing black tights with a tweed miniskirt and white running shoes - what were you thinking?!" or, in a dubious voice, "my mum said you were dressed... sort of funky." I ended up feeling that I couldn't get it right. It never occurred to me to just do what everyone else was doing - I think I'm actually grateful for that character trait.

But even if I had been the worst-dressed child in the history of the planet Earth, why did I feel that that affected my ability to dress myself as an adult? Loads of us have some regrettable style choices in our pasts and dodgy photos in our family albums. Children aren't supposed to be miniature style icons, after all - they're supposed to be kids, snot-nosed, grubby, and covered in mud. But speaking personally, I chose my own clothes from a very young age. My mum often reiterates that I wasn't interested in fashion as a child, but that's not quite the full story. I wasn't interested in how other people saw me, but very early on, I really loved clothes. I fell in love with fabrics and prints, I pored over catalogues, I loved raking through the aisles at Tammy Girl. I wrote detailed outfit ideas and packing lists in my diaries. It never occurred to me that clothes expressed something about me to other people - I just knew that they made me happy.

I get a similar feeling looking through these old photos as I do from street style sites with a certain aesthetic, like Hel Looks and NYC Looks. I don't necessarily like all the looks, although some are very inspiring to me, but I feel like they have the same vibrancy and playfulness. I also love reading the little snippets about what inspired each style or outfit, and I get lots of ideas for new ways to layer and put together outfits with what I already own.

Sometimes lately I've been convinced that a makeover, or a final, curated iteration of 'my personal style', will make me happier and more confident. But I've also noticed that everyone claiming that the right clothes will change my life is also selling a book, or a course, or a series of personal styling Zoom sessions, etc, etc. I remain unconvinced by any style guide that breaks women into categories (Timeless Classic! Eccentric Vintage! Androgyne!) or provides a one-size-fits-all list of things everyone's wardrobe should have.

The "life-changing makeover/style is important because it controls how other people see you" narrative is very alluring - much like a diet. I want to believe that my most contented, ideal self is only a personal styling session away. But honestly? I'm starting to think it might be bullshit. This makeover narrative fuels everything from personal shoppers' careers to reality TV, and seems to bring women so much joy and confidence, and yet I'm starting to wonder if the whole concept is a con, a scam designed to make the already-insecure feel dissatisfied with what we have. I've changed my whole appearance a lot of times, and still felt not pretty enough, not cool enough, not enough in general. I'm beginning to doubt that 'becoming stylish' will make me any happier. I don't always feel great in my clothes, but maybe I need to try changing the feelings, not the wardrobe.