As I sat on the bus in my wide-legged gray sweatpants and brown UGG boots and watched all of the other legs walk past with wide-legged gray sweatpants and brown UGG boots, I couldn't help but feel like I was a clone.
But it’s okay. I’m different from them. I’m wearing these wide-legged gray sweatpants and brown UGG boots in a different way than they are. They don’t know I’ve got the early 2000s punk album “Living Well is the Best Revenge” by Midtown playing in my AirPods. I’m different.
Right?
Fashion is an outward manifestation of the person we’ve determined ourselves to be on the inside. It has long been the go-to way of separating oneself from the masses. Many countercultural movements rely on inventing a new style for that reason. Without even opening your mouth, somebody is able to identify what you believe in and what your interests are because you are visually aligned with a certain group. But when we’re all dressed the same, we start assuming that we all must be the same. So we find other avenues to prove that we aren’t.
In high school, I prided myself on sticking out. I had bright pink hair, thick eyeliner and spent an hour before school every day choosing an outfit that I knew would be unique. Now, the hair dye has faded back to brown, I can’t remember the last time I even touched a tube of eyeliner and the only personality in my outfits most days is a soccer scarf.
When I show my college friends a picture of sixteen year old Melody, it’s often met with a gasp and giggle followed by an exclamation of “I never would’ve guessed that that was you!” But to me, I still am her. So, why do we look so different?
It’s only natural that our wild teenage ways become muted as we progress into adulthood (my Manic Panic hair might not be welcomed in a corporate office), but it’s not even that we’re adjusting our personal style to better fit a professional setting. We are losing it altogether.
I’m not bashing modern trends, they’re trends for a reason. If people didn’t like an item, it wouldn’t be so popular. But, whether implicitly or explicitly recognized, we live our lives at the mercy of social media. When we see certain looks gaining popularity, we seek to mimic them in hopes of receiving the same amount of positive attention. Offline, our motivation is similar; we’re trying to send the message that we are “with it,” we are culturally aware enough to know what’s in and out.
Our camouflage is a safety blanket. We don’t want judging eyes on us so we opt for outfits that fade us into the crowd. However, we still have a desire to prove that we are inwardly different, the black sheep with UGG boots among white sheep with UGG boots. Enter the standing out versus blending in dichotomy.
I am no exception. I talk about music that’s more obscure than what you like, artsy films directed by people whose names you couldn’t pronounce and books that you could not begin to decode in the way that I’ve decoded them. And while, yes, I do genuinely enjoy the media I consume, there comes a time when you have to ask yourself: “if an Instagram story is posted with a 1980s French shoegaze song but no one is around to view it, does the 1980s French shoegaze song even matter that much to me?” Sometimes an Olivia Dean song is better, but you know that name too well. I’ve got to dig deeper.
