Owning Up to My Style Mistakes
Credits: Photo - Anonymous, Styling (lack there of) - Sarah G. Schmidt
When someone asks me what fashion or style mistakes I’ve made in the past, I usually comment on wishing I bought things I didn’t – especially in this flexible retail world of doing a simple return if one changes their mind – instead of buying something. I do, however feel regret for things I have worn.
I know one needs to make mistakes. I am pro self-discovery and reflection. I’ve recently heard a modified catch phrase that “Practice make progress” instead of the old and I will say, impossible to achieve, “Practice makes perfect.” (Ugh. I still loathe when people use the word perfect. Such a waste of precious mental capacity, the absolute opposite of what one should try and achieve, and so, so, so not the point.)
Getting back to my point, you need to do something – and sometimes the wrong thing - to learn something. It likely is messy and if you’re doing life lived boldly, you’ll have to apologise once you know better about something daft you’ve done. In this world where people – mostly boomers and Chrissy Teigan – are so afraid of being cancelled for the things they’ve done in the past, I’d like to confess the things that I’ve done that I am ashamed of. It’s time to own up to my mistakes so maybe someone else won’t repeat them. I feel the need to be vulnerable and come clean.
Staring with an unacceptable, horrific one, there’s no good way to say this so here goes: I have done brown face. Once. It was Halloween 2009 and I was hearing more about folks migrating north to find work or shelter or reuniting with their family. Thinking that I was making a statement somehow, I thought it would be provocative to go as a migrant person and have my partner be a border control cop. A version of a couple costume that would create conversation about why we should support folks and not pen them up like animals. My costume was a beyond gross way to accomplish that attempted provocation. Let me be clear: I wore a racist costume to a party. I have to own that truth.
Of course, it was wrong. Of course, I should know better back then. And of course, I am still mortified with shame. I’ve since learned that costumes that are off limits include wearing something that the person you are referencing cannot take off. Ie: their religion, their sexuality, their race. I honestly didn’t think about costume that way until that misstep. Plunge, really. I was blinded by my own privilege, never having to think about it from that perspective. Learning aside, there’s no excuse. I am mortified still. But I have to sit in my shame of my actions. Current me can’t believe the actions of former me. But I did it. I am owning my mistakes.
Another style mistake seems harmless enough but looking back it was so telling. I was a young gal going as a plus one to my then spouse’s sister’s wedding. I purchased, tried on at home, and returned a couple dresses for the event. I couldn’t find the “right” one. For the out-of-province event – meaning I couldn’t change my look - I was stuck with what I packed. Come that wedding day, I wore a guest look I would never typically choose for myself. Except I did choose it. Navy blue, polka dot, above the knee, tight everywhere, halter jersey dress with a sweetheart neckline. So not my style. Even twenty-year old me. There’s nothing wrong with the dress per say, but it was not me. It did not accurately communicate who I was. It was sweet, girl next door vibes, all because I thought HE would like if I wore something more basic than my usually bold style choices. I thought I liked how I think he saw me wearing it. A less intimidating person. A quieter person. A more traditionally ladylike person. Someone sweet and docile and unfussy.
Who was this person? Turns out, not me. To seal the deal of the failure of my choice, I got my toenail stomped on that night – open toe white sandals to match the dots on the dress - and it bleed for hours and eventually fell out and had to grow back. That nail took longer to heal itself then the relationship lasted. Another sign this whole situation – fella and wedding guest look - wasn’t right. I’ve since learned that I can’t find people who truly love me for me unless I show the truest version of me. Like, duh, how can they love a person who I’m pretending to be instead of showing people who I really am?
There have been times when I duffed moments using clothing with less consequence. Some good; some bad.
Years back I was at a bar with some girlfriends and a band was playing. The lead singer - male, slim, white - took his shirt off as he performed. Me thinking I was so astute in challenging this act of machoism by taking my shirt off and mimicking his every move got me nowhere hella fast. As the bouncer escorted me out of the venue, I started to see that I likely just looked like a gal who was so thrilled by the band that she took her tarp off. I’m not some anti-patriarchy protester making headway challenging double standard gender norms, no, I’m acting like a frisky groupie.
I’ve thrown shoes that pinched my feet into fenced off construction zone and walked the rest of the way barefoot to get a laugh.
I’ve given unsolicited advice about personal style and have hurt people’s feelings.
I’ve mooned and flashed to see the reaction of the onlooker.
I’ve had to relearn that what a teen girl wears should not be sexualized like me and my peers were. I’ve given away earrings that I love to a stranger at a music festival because she said she loved them. Moments later, I chuckled to myself that I did like them and kind of wish I still had them. But nah, the idea that maybe I had made that person’s day made me forget the jewellery.
When I said I regret those heavy on my heart, first mistakes above, I should take that language back and refine it. I say that because how would I have genuine growth from sitting in the shame, getting read up on why I was so wrong, and actually learning from them unless I did them? I think I needed to do it myself. While I am remorseful and sorry, of course I’ll never know what could have been. One can’t go back in time. We can only move forward hopefully informed with the knowledge of our past. What I do know is that I’m here now, evolving everyday into something more than I was.
I love the quote from the Beastie Boys documentary where Ad-Rock shares that he’d, “Rather be a hypocrite than be the same person forever” when responding to a journalist’s questions of potential misogyny in early career song lyrics. That has stuck with me. Changing one’s stance on something once read up is powerful. Literally the point of education. Know better, do better. (And apologize, when you f*c% it up).
As I continue to make mistakes – both in style and other areas of my life - I want to believe that it is better to try and fail and ultimately learn, than doing and saying nothing at all and staying the “safe” same.
