For several reasons, I would not recommend losing the nucleus of your self-image to the passage of time and the pressures of society. Among those reasons is the fact that, once you do lose sight of your self-image, it becomes very difficult to rediscover. Over the last few months, I have spent enough time in the humid, denim depths of the Madewell fitting room to last a lifetime.

There is solace in the knowledge that I am not alone in this unstylish void. My research (paging through Reddit) has made clear the fact that many others have experienced similar losses in recent years. The Covid-19 pandemic shifted the way we live and move. This has changed the shapes of our bodies and our bodies’ responses to colors, fabrics, textures. As a result, my body and mind are feuding and frankly it is very tiresome.

Fashion has always been very important to me. I have always taken great interest in studying fashion history and production. I wore a homemade, asymmetrical smock to a sixth grade dance (I was in my Rei Kawabuko era), and spent a year studying design at the Fashion Institute of Technology. This passion, until recently, translated into my own commitment to personal style. Concepts for outfits once came to me easily, whereas getting dressed now feels like crawling in the dark. The path of least resistance is one well-laid with turtlenecks and baggy jeans.

I have been searching for inspiration as an antidote to my sartorial slump, but find it difficult to see myself in the images populating my Instagram feed. I am reluctant to blame all of my neurosis on social media. Though it’s probably accurate, it is uninteresting. But allow me a moment of your time.

Once upon a time, I gathered inspiration for my scaring-church-ladies-outfits from the pages of Lookbook.nu and LiveJournal communities. This eventually morphed into following troves of fashion-minded influencers on platforms like Instagram and TikTok. As with everything on Today’s Modern Fucked-Up Profit-Driven Internet, extremes are favored. This has spilled over into self-expression. As I got distracted looking at my cellphone while writing this, I just watched a video of a woman putting together the following outfit: a vintage leather skirt, an electric blue Coperni top, a bedazzled Adidas mesh top, a vintage silk fascinator, Tom Ford sunglasses, a Swarovski bag, and silver John Fleuvog platform loafers (all complemented by a full face of Dior makeup). This person, without a doubt, looked very cool and interesting.

Now, I am trying an exercise. I am trying to mentally hold this image side-by-side with a grainy digital-camera photo of a young woman with a terrible haircut, wearing a Courtney Love slip dress she likely shoplifted from Goodwill. I don’t even think I am approaching this comparison from a fist-shaking “things were better when I was a youth!” mentality when I say there is so much more raw inspiration inherent in this latter image. For one, I believe that Courtney Love Slip Dress actually went about her day dressed as she was. I would be surprised if Influencer was getting dressed for more than Instagram.

So far, brooding on this subject hasn’t yielded spectacular results in terms of my own appearance. But continuing to brood is my intention nevertheless. I hope to continue to reflect — rather than overthink — on what it means to me to get dressed.