So, I've had a thing for distressed sweaters and knitwear since childhood - between The Matrix (1999) and my love of Dickens and his orphans, I've always had an appreciation and fascination for things falling apart. Growing up in an upper-middle-class household with parents from lower working-class backgrounds (a farming family and a military family respectively), having to really wear things out before I got a new one wasn't much of a problem. (Yes, I realise how frustratingly privileged that statement will sound, to many people. I know.)
But I grew up with my fashion sense somewhat circumscribed. For one thing, being a fat child in the 90s and 2000s was not especially easy. That is putting it mildly; for a variety of reasons, it was hell, and has left me with lasting body image issues and struggles with disordered eating ever since. Add on a hormonal condition, PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and you have a recipe for body dysmorphia that no physician will ever pick up, and self-loathing that's been hard to shake.
Over the years, I've managed to chip away at it bit by bit. There are still body parts I hate, resent, and fear - but I don't always hate them all the time, and what's more, I actually like other parts of my body. Learning how to look all right while not smiling in photos has also been useful. I like taking pictures of the world around me, my friends, and myself to capture a mood, a moment, or a memory - and frankly, I don't like faking happiness or calm. I was rather good at it for a long time, but it certainly wasn't good for me.
How do you solve a problem like self-loathing?
Well, in my case, with fashion. I always designed and drew dresses in my childhood, and learning to knit and sew by hand, and later, re-learn to sew with a machine, has enabled me to alter my clothes so they either fit or are more comfortable. I'm not great at it all the time, but just doing it is very validating.
It's rather embarrassing to be a woman in her thirties going through a goth phase; most of the time, it's relegated to the province of teens or young adults. But frankly, life does not end at age 30, as I am discovering, and neither does self-examination. Certainly, I hope it is less navel-gazing and circular than the decidedly shallow, valid stuff that fills many a "man pain" Literary novel - but the truth is that middle-aged people exist, and are not always complacent.
As relationships mature and the haze of crisis dies down, it's not a bad idea to reevaluate things and consider what causes one pain and what brings relief and comfort - and to seek more of the latter, while resolving the former. But in the same vein, avoiding pain and wallowing in it are both traps. The only middle ground of peace is acceptance. And sometimes, being a little sad for a while feels nice.
Where does the goth stuff come in to this?
The thing about wearing clothing that is flamboyant and artistic and expressive is that in addition to pairing things that look nice together in a satisfying way, it also lets me communicate nonvisually. I've loved distressed sweaters for ages - but frankly, the last four years have been particularly distressing, and there's really something refreshing about feeling like shit because you look like shit, but make it fashion.
And sometimes, non-verbal, even non-spoken communication can be really powerful. With the toll 2020 has taken on me, being able to throw on a dark, gloomy sweater, and feeling its weight, being able to pet the soft knitted fabric and pluck the loose threads or smooth them back into shape, has been viscerally cathartic in a way. Sometimes, one has articulated all they can about one's feelings, but a mood still remains - and for that, wearing black or a big, glum, clouded-sky grey scarf can be awfully comforting. It's a way to signal one's mind state without having to say it out loud.
And this is not to say that my depression has come back - oddly, I think my mental health is better this month than it's been in years. There are two very big problems I've been struggling with for more than a decade (which I'll talk about more later; they're difficult) - and I've finally cracked them. But of course, sometimes I'm still sad, especially as I work on things and grieve the loss of them.
frankly, the last four years have been particularly distressing, and there's really something refreshing about feeling like shit because you look like shit, but make it fashion.
Now, that's not to say that I'm always wearing black distressed sweaters, stockings or socks, and black shorts/distressed denim skirts every single day. In fact, it's been kind of a good motivation to wear more colourful clothes at other times. The difference between sadness and depression is, in a sense, consent. To be less glib, however, depression washes the colour out of everything; sadness has plenty of value.
Clothes can be feelings
The thing about wearing dark clothing is that it's been allowing me to basically validate my own feelings and express them without having to, I don't know, walk around making declarative sentences at all times. I am not, after all, an NPC in a video game.
But clothing can be used to express joy, or madness, or a desire for comfort as well. If there's one thing I've learned from this, it's that improbable things that feel inaccessible sometimes work better than we might expect. So, for my readers - maybe you're a mother in a van feeling overwhelmed. Sometimes this sort of thing takes hours, but it's not as though the only way to be goth or express another alternative fashion sense is to spend hours upon hours doing one's makeup. (That is also fine, of course, but not everyone has, wants, or needs to do that much makeup or preening.) Wearing all black and putting on some extra eyeliner might be enough for you - and it doesn't make you inferior.
Alternatively, purple pants and an insane 80s sweater might evoke the hectic madness someone is feeling. Does something appear to clash? Well, try it anyway. People, myself included, often worry about "pulling off" an outfit, but the key to doing that isn't just confidence - it's comfort. If something is comfortable, or makes one's body feel good (say, a tight belt on a loose shirt dress, or a corset, or pants with just the right texture) then it's going to look so much better than that stiff, awful chiffon on that disappointingly cute cottagecore blouse.
And finally: phases pass. Some of them become a normal part of one's life, losing their intensity; some just end unexpectedly one day. But giving oneself permission to just try something for a while is terribly important. And at the very least? It's going pretty well for me.
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Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer and editor. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime and their two cats. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and learning too much. She is currently working on other people’s manuscripts, the next books in her series, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find her all over the internet: * OG Blog * Mailing list * Magpie Editing * Amazon * Medium * Twitter * Instagram * Facebook * Tumblr * Paypal.me * Ko-fi
