The Ritual of Getting Dressed: Why It's More Than ‘Just an Outfit’

Do we all end our day in bed, overthinking about what our outfit for work will be the next morning when we should be trying to get an early night? Or are you normal and throw on whatever is clean and available in your wardrobe?

Getting dressed in the morning is a routine task for most. In a world where the professional dress code feels just as suffocating as a school uniform, finding the magic in the mundane of workplace style can be daunting. Experimenting can come at the risk of a confrontation with HR. However, there is something anarchistic knowing my outfits fit the dresscode, but don’t necessarily comply. 

Which brings me to the title of this post, and how I have come to romanticise putting on my metaphorical armour. 

The perfect body changes all the fucking time, and while I don’t want to permanently change my face (anymore) I have always found comfort in changing my appearance through fashion. My self loathing for my appearance has gotten less severe as I’ve grown older, and dressing myself up was my coping mechanism. I always felt like my day would be a little easier if I looked put together. Think of Andy from Devil Wears Prada, her confidence sky rockets after revamping her style. Monday mornings became my makeover montage. 

When you’re spending a third of your lifespan at a job, you might as well be comfortable and confident. I remember sitting in primary school for the full day in an itchy jumper that I hated the colour of, counting the seconds until I could go home and play dress up in my Barbie & the 12 Dancing Princesses gown and slippers. If I'm serving the 9-5 life sentence I might as well look hot right? 

I think this speaks to a wider issue that we’re all experiencing: we don’t have the time, money or energy to invest creatively in our spare time. I would love to spend hours curating moodboards and outfit ideas but I simply don’t have enough energy to sit down for hours and get lost in the process. My sewing machine is sitting lifelessly in its box having only been used a total of five times in its three year ownership. So maybe I should let the influencers recommend the next ‘to die for’ statement piece and I’ll go from there. 

So while I’m not living my chic-flick, goth coded fashion fairy tale I dreamed of, I can still dress like I am.