In the novel “The Giver,” young children are given jackets with buttons on the back to teach them the importance of working together. However, when they turn seven, the kids are given another jacket with front opening buttons as a symbol for their newfound independence. As an eighth grader, I listened to my English teacher discuss how clothing metaphorizes freedom and the abandonment of the social norms and rules in the book.
This was good news to my shy yet free-spirited self. With sparkly pink Skechers and a green graphic tee that read, “Party every day,” my clothing choices gave me the opportunity to communicate my attitude and thoughts without having to strike up an actual conversion.
Unfortunately, at Aragon, clothing has grown into a identification label. Girls wear similar clothes as a social uniform so individual differences are minimized. Last Friday, during a walk across campus from the Spanish hall to my English classroom, I saw at least four girls wearing identical black leggings, grey sweaters, and plain black backpacks. Just by their clothing, I associated them all with each other, although they may have not even known one another. Clothing is a way to identify as a member of the group.
In a cultural environment that demands an unrealistic “one-image-fits-all” standard for girls, we feel the need to be the same to protect themselves from social attack and emotional vulnerability. We camouflage to hide ourselves from the the input of others. We dress with the pressure to conform, to fit in, and to avoid becoming the potential subject of ridicule.
I learned this lesson the harder way. Freshman year, my clothing choice began as an expedition to differentiate myself from my twin sister. I craved individuality. I wore my Aragon PE shorts and neon green Nike running shoes Monday through Friday and through the seasons. I paired them with my waterproof swim jacket, which boldly read my name, so that no one with eyes could miss it. I knew that if my clothes deviated from a social standard, people would would not mistake me for my twin.
Yet, still as soft spoken as my eighth grade self, I began to feel more uncomfortable by disapproving glances and being asked why I wore my PE clothes to school everyday. Afraid of feeling like an outcast, I gradually gave up on my mission toward a separate identity and stopped dressing to be recognized as a different person from my twin sister. I decided that I could endure those routine conversations that consisted of questions of how to tell my twin and I apart more than I could endure judgement.
Just like everyone else, I do not want to draw negative attention to myself. My pink Skechers have grown out and a repeat of PE shorts season and green graphic tees is unimaginable.
Clothing is not a form of self expression. Maybe, in a perfect world, where one can wear anything without fear of judgement, clothing can reveal one’s personality. Instead, the use of clothing has been shaped into a method of attempting to fit into an image, rather than to be different from others. In modern society, we dress to assimilate, not to express.
