Dressing In Personality

 LOCATION: VIBORG, DANMARK

On used clothing and the education of retrospection.

I am unsure exactly when, or where, I learned to express myself through clothing. Most likely, it was a gradual evolution of self-discovery and – at times, painful – self-examination. Perhaps I have not yet fully learned; perhaps it's a lifelong class from which we never graduate, only move through the years with fresh perspectives and objectives. But it is clear to me that this ilk of self-expression is one that matures with time. The most extraordinary forces of personal style tend to be mavens of self; not surprisingly, they also tend to be fully-grown, fully-formed, and fully independent, often with upwards of six decades in the rearview mirror. For the near-entirety of our human history, elders have been preeminent in society; the wisest, kindest, most learned; those that we respect most and look to for guidance and teaching. In life, in academia, in culture – and, of course, in fashion – retrospection is the ultimate education.

I have always found that the most well-dressed flee the beaten path as though it would swallow whole their personalities if allowed too near. But they do so with casual grace, unapologetically yet never brazenly. There is some kind of unspoken stigma that settles like smog around the idea of wearing the clothing of others; or at least, I have found this to be true in North America (this opinion seems to be far less commonly held in Europe). The truly stylish set flout that stigma and wear all manner of secondhand, vintage, and antique pieces with a flair that can never be bought, no matter how wealthy. I do not claim to have that true style, that indescribable chic, nor do I believe that wearing the clothes of those that were will imbue me with it. But to carry the legacy of a person who touched others and yet was incredibly herself, and to feel her story and personality surround me, is a subtle yet breathtaking privilege. This blouse belonged to the grandmother of my friend's father. To hear him speak about her is precious and almost uncomfortably intimate. She was his best friend, and the pride he has in their bond radiates from him with every story. That he entrusted me with her garments, these memories, is an undeserved honour.

 

Photography by KQ | Wearing a vintage Blouse; a secondhand woolen Cloak; David Brooks Trousers, secondhand; and thrifted Shoes

To wear the garments of those I've never met is concurrently, yet convergently, thrilling. To know and honour is one thing, but to be oblivious and allowed a wandering imagination is spectacular in its own right. I have no possible way of knowing who came before: what thoughts ran through their minds as they dressed; what adventures they experienced; what feelings they had.

And so, I wear used clothing. And I dream.

And I slowly, ever so slowly, uncover and understand these pieces of myself.

Mille tendresses.