How COVID-19 Changed My Relationship with My Closet
Picture this, I’m scrolling through the bloated camera roll on my phone waiting for the sweet release of sleep, when I stumble upon February 2020. Which was…three years ago? Six weeks? Oh, right…10 months.
Back in February, I was celebrating my roommate’s birthday, seeing Birds of Prey in theaters, and going to university classes in person. Almost every day I wore a full face of makeup and an outfit that would require a level of mental fortitude I no longer possess. I scroll back further. January, December, November, flicking through the most body confident time of my life. I had finally conquered eyeshadow, found a foundation that matched my skin tone, and was routinely wearing extra accessories. I felt cute, cuter than I ever had before, and it shows in the bulk of my selfies and full-body mirror selfies taking place in 2019.
The point of this isn’t to lament the loss of my pre-pandemic life or to come off as Sharpay Evans levels of superficial and shallow. I’m just…flummoxed. I know the answer would seem obvious but I still ask, “What the h-e-double-hockey-sticks happened to me?”
For me, there was no such thing as being overdressed — I had to look cute. I’ve been like this since I was a pre-teen forced to wear a t-shirt under my spaghetti strap tops (which became cool again in 2018 so thanks mom!). My clothes were incredibly important to me and how I wanted others to think of me. My love for clothes and fashion was the part of myself I believed to be unshakeable.
Now…not so much. And there are enough articles to prove I’m not the only one caring less and less as the pandemic wears on. It’s become a very prominent norm to look like a schlub 24/7. Or rather, it’s okay because no one cares what you look like when the world is metaphorically and sometimes literally on fire. In fact, if you do dress up, you almost stick out like a sore thumb.
Previous research studies have shown that people form their impressions of people based on things like clothing. So much so that it can affect your behavior toward that person. In 1992, Richard Feinberg, Lisa Mataro, and Jeffery Burroughs conducted a study on clothing and identity. Feinberg and co. hypothesized that “a significant correlation exists between the meaning of clothing and an individual’s identity when the clothing is selected to represent the individual.” What this basically means is that clothing is a huge part of our identity and that an ‘audience’ is equally important.
Which, no sh*t, Sherlock, but it never hurts to know there are research studies and science behind it. However, people are more isolated than ever and if clothing is just a megaphone for what you want to project to others, what do you do when there’s no audience?
Yes, I know video calls still require you to dress from the waist up; I was still regularly dressing up for online school until May. And social media continues to be filled with glammed-out individuals keeping up their identity-image through the internet. But I’m sure the number of days they spend dressed to the nines isn’t as consistent as it used to be, and what’s considered trendy and fashionable has changed because of the pandemic. Pieces that blend comfort and fashion — like the corset hoodie or tie-dye lounge sets — are popular right now for a reason.
I look at my closet, many pieces I haven’t touched in ages, and not only am I bored by them, I see no point in going back to wearing half of it. In this case, absence didn’t make the heart grow founder, it made the heart forget. My outfits, even when I am going out (ha! Going out? I mean going to the grocery store), take up little of my mental space. I fill in my eyebrows and put on chapstick. Pants. Shirt. Shoes. Mask. Good enough. Knowing that I used to be the “little fashionista” of the family, I’m surprised that I’ve found myself here.
My outfits were an extension of myself, I hadn’t realized how important it was for other people to that until now. These days, “please don’t come near me” is the only kind of image I want to put out.
I like to think 2020 has given me more important things to think about than which top to match with my jeans, but I still wonder what caused my new Steve Jobs-ian approach to fashion. Is it because I know no one will judge me? Have depression and isolation taken their toll on me? Is this liberation? Pandemic-induced apathy? Do I need to bring this up to my therapist? (P.S. I did.)
I really can’t say for sure. As a fat girl with low self-esteem, I recognize that looking “better” than my peers used to be my way of coping with the anxiety of being around them. Not anymore, apparently! There’s no one to present for, and it’d be nice to say I’ve accepted myself at my absolute grimiest, but I simply have no interest in dressing up just for little ol’ me. I know who I am and what I put out into the world. Dressing up for myself feels…redundant. What’s more, I have no interest in looking “better” than anyone anymore. It’s one of the many lessons 2020 has taught me.
However, this is not an indictment on anyone who’s still using their full wardrobe knowing their outings are limited (or at least they better be). If it’s a priority to anyone else, and it helps them love themselves then more power to them. I am not the fashion police.
I’m not sure when this will all end or if I’ll ever go back to the amount of effort I put into my appearance before the pandemic. I do know that it won’t be a coping mechanism, though. Instead, I’m trying to remind myself that my identity and attractiveness exist outside of other people and my clothes. Hopefully, that sticks.
Disclaimer: **This is a piece about my personal experience with self-confidence and clothing during 2020. I am extremely fortunate to be able to have the things that I have and be able to write about them. If you have clothing that you no longer need or want, please try to donate some of them to your local shelters or centers. If not, remember, most textiles are recyclable.
