Style is a feeling, right?
Throwing yourself into the darkness of style translation and overcoming "I have nothing to wear" hopelessness
I’m a week out from being back from a True Vacation—an actual holiday that felt like an honest-to-god disconnect, despite getting sick. I was also actively shedding the effects of burnout that is plaguing so many of us lately. I had suspected I was nearing five-alarm level burnout prior to leaving for the UK, but I had deluded myself into thinking that I was just a “good night’s sleep” away from feeling ok—how very boomer of me.
I could fill this entire post with a rant about capitalism and its effects on mental health, but that’s for another day, and, honestly, another mood. Today, I’m marveling over where my mind wanders when it actually is rested and rejuvenated. At no surprise to me, I’ve had circular thoughts about style.
Spending 19 days living out of a suitcase provides perspective. I’m not talking about, “oh I wish I was home in my bed with my comforts, dogs, and mattress” type of perspective, though that was certainly present for me. I’m also not speaking to the “wow, people live so differently that we do in the States, and I dream of living a similar life abroad someday” thoughts. Those were present, too. What this particular trip to this particular country hit me with is style.
Traveling allows you to try on different versions of yourself that may feel extended or too far outside of your comfort zone for home. For example, I came home from the UK in my sock era, not because I don’t love a strong sock moment editorially/aesthetically, but because my Millennial programming suggests that I need a no show/ankle sock or bare foot in my sneaker or loafers. As my friend Amanda reminds me often: accessories are the lifeblood to my style. And, prior to this trip, I didn’t reach for socks as an accessory or statement piece—a missed opportunity, come to find out.
Travel also takes you out of your day to day, forcing you to work with what you have in a foreign place. This does something to your brain chemistry such that, once back in your home with your precious full closet, there is, at least for me, a renewed sense of enthusiasm to work with what I have with all that I have.
Further inspiring me is the crispness already in the air in the PNW. It’s so crisp that I hereby declare it autumn. Cue the PSL memes and grab your fresh school supplies! I adore fall—this season always feels like the actual start of the year. Blame the inner forever-student in me. And, now that fall is upon us and I’m back from vacation, I’m feeling enthusiastic and…..antsy (?!) in my style. Cassie, what do you mean you feel antsy? Didn’t you just say you are inspired? Yes, dear friend, meet the head-scratching nature of my inner world. The pressure of inspiration can turn on me sometimes, and here is a ripe example.
It’s not like I’ve ever thought I would be settled on a static definition of what style means to me generally or what my style is. Allison Bornstein talked about this on her TikTok recently—that the meaning or connotation of your “three words” can evolve over time, even if the actual words remain the same. Thank you, AB, I feel seen.1 I actually have loved the ever-evolving nature of my style over the years.
With evolution, though, comes certain downsides—it’s exhausting to always be changing, external pressure tells you to keep up with trends that may not actually resonate, and it’s a lot of work to curate, edit, and manage a closet (at least for shopping enthusiasts/collectors like me). Mitigating those pitfalls has gotten easier as I’ve gotten older. I’ve learned to evolve slowly and mindfully, block out a lot of external noise, and just feel my way through the process. I haven’t quite mastered the Closet Clean-out, but maybe my late 30s/early 40s is the time for that (Future Cassie, you have your work cut out for you).
My own style definition, ever-evolving as it is, has meant a lot of different things to me over my life. For context, I nailed down my Allison Bornstein-inspired three words last year, and they still resonate with me today: Classic—Tomboy—Effervescent. With these words as guideposts, I’ve noticed a through line—an invisible string, if you will—in the evolution of the meaning connected to the how I feel when I put clothes on my body. In other words, style to me is a feeling. My “Classic” word is a good example of this, as it used to connotate preppy or feminine, while today it signifies more timeless silhouettes and pieces, like a tailored black blazer. I want an element of my look to feel elegant and understated versus feeling like I’m cosplaying Charlotte York from SATC.
“Style as a feeling” might even be too simplistic because style is actually a translation of what I feel into a visual medium of silhouettes, fabrics, colors, textures, connotations, and history. It’s a way to translate how I feel into how I present to the outside world. So in a way, it’s telling a story of first impression (to strangers) and/or a story of a current emotional or mental state (to friends especially). As a writer, this isn’t too much of a stretch or surprise—it’s fun to craft a narrative with words, and in this case, clothes and accessories.
I was reading an interview with Anne Carson recently in The Paris Review (yes, I’m that girl *heart hands*). She was asked a question about how friends and lovers “speak the same language,” and I was struck by the poignancy of her response. Here’s the excerpt (full interview here):
INTERVIEWER
As I read Eros the Bittersweet, I was thinking about the adage that friends and lovers “speak the same language.” I don’t know if that’s true—it seems more like everyone speaks their own individual language, and there’s this constant act of translation happening in relationships.
CARSON
I don’t think anybody ever knows what another person means when they speak, frankly. It’s more than translation, it’s just throwing yourself into the dark. Language is so very, very personal, private. Weird. I guess you could think of it as translation, that seems like a kind of euphemistic metaphor. It’s probably a lot more hopeless than that. But the effort of speaking as a human is the effort to get past that hopelessness with every sentence.
Obviously this interview and question are centered around Carson’s written work and translation. But, I feel deeply that this perspective resonates with style creation. “Throwing yourself into the dark” seems an apt description of any journey into the depths of a closet, or at least my closet. On top of that, style is an expression—a form of communication to the outside world. Style is a language, and language is nuanced, varied, beautiful, and confusing.
At times, I feel some of the “hopelessness” in an effort to “speak” via style as I look at the current disarray of my closet, or scroll through social media where I follow a lot of stylish folks. I don’t feel the hopelessness often or for long. Usually, I can pull myself out of it by focusing my attention on the pieces in my closet that are the “tried and true”, i.e., the things that I know fit me and bring me joy when I wear—that classic black blazer, a perfectly cut white tee, a cutie scarf from my collection, and that pair of jeans. If that approach doesn’t work, I focus on the style icons on socials that don’t feel (for whatever reason) unattainable, like Allison Bornstein, Heather Hurst, and more recently, Daisy Edgar Jones.2
Seeking inspiration from others doesn’t just kick the hopelessness aside. As I collect inspiration and redirect myself to things that inspire me with the good and lovely feelings, of course, I can drill down on certain elements of a look that actually resonate with me versus a trend that doesn’t fee authentic (lookin’ at you, boxer shorts or teeny tiny sunglasses). There’s an active act of translation that occurs, and it’s less about translating a specific look literally (where can I acquire each of those exact items) and more about understanding how that specific look makes me feel or what specific element of a look can be translated into my wardrobe or my style.
In the best of times, seeking inspiration from others is an immediate light bulb moment: “Oooooo, I like the way she layers that piece of jewelry with that specific silhouette…I can emulate that by using that one piece I already have.” In the worst of times, it harkens the intrusive thought we’ve all had at one time or another: “I have nothing to wear.” That thought is (and should be) fleeting, because (lol y’all) I have a lot of clothes that I actually love.
In short, I’m in a very temporary moment of style hopelessness. I know this feeling is temporary, and this weekend I plan to “throw myself into the dark” aka my closet, and HOPE to emerge a stylish fiend of a phoenix, strutting the streets of Seattle in her classic-tomboy-effervescent airs.
Until next time, xo.
I highly recommend her book Wear It Well: Reclaim Your Closet and Rediscover the Joy of Getting Dressed to any style nerds or burgeoning amateurs. It changed my perspective on style and I’ve recommended to several people who’ve loved it too. It’s not super inclusive, but conceptually it slaps.
I need bangs, too, right? DEJ’s hair is also an inspiration.
The algorithm is telling us don't do bangs. Evidence: https://tinyurl.com/bangfail