Mission of the week: dress like you want

It always starts the same way. You have the outfit in your head — the one that feels like a tiny act of rebellion and joy at once. Maybe it’s a statement top, a pair of earrings that make noise when you walk, or special tights that turn the sidewalk into a stage. You put it on, look in the mirror, and for a second you feel exactly like yourself — like a queen.

And then the quiet negotiation begins. You swap the heels for sneakers or silent loafers. You take off the earrings. You change the top. You tell yourself you don’t want to be “too much.” What that really means is that you want to blend in.

This instinct isn’t random. As women, we’re trained to read the room before we even enter it. We tone ourselves down not because we don’t like what we’re wearing, but because we don’t want to make other women uncomfortable. You know that feeling when that one woman walks in and everyone collectively thinks, “Wow”? And you’re standing there in a “safer” outfit, regretting not wearing what you actually wanted? Yeah. That.

And then we tell ourselves stories — that she’s doing it for attention, that she’s a pick me girl. But often it’s just projection. Because we could have done the same, but didn’t. The title says it clearly: it’s not a group project. Dressing the same to create a “chill vibe” doesn’t actually make anyone more comfortable; it just makes the room flatter. If someone wants to wear heels because they had a shitty day, let them. Actually — cheer them on.

And then, of course, there are the men. Let’s not pretend they don’t play a role in why we leave out those extra touches. Most of them don’t get it — not because they’re mean, but because they don’t speak the language. Fashion to them is often binary: hot or not, simple or confusing. I’ve caught myself reaching for the safe outfit, the jeans and simple top, the one I know they’ll get.

Leandra Medine Cohen once said, “I’m not dressing with men in mind at all. I’m just going to wear what I want to wear.” She’s right. But it’s easier said than done.

There’s also this unspoken divide between what’s considered “men pretty” and “girl pretty.” Men pretty is what’s easy to digest — the Margot Robbie kind of classic, simple, conventionally hot. Girl pretty is different. It’s the outfit that makes women’s eyes light up — the red tights, the brooch shaped like a fish, the weird earrings that don’t make sense but somehow work. Girl pretty is personal. It’s play. It’s the good kind of pretty — the one that doesn’t need to be translated for anyone.

And here’s the thing: if a man doesn’t get it, why are we trying so hard to feel pretty for him anyway? Half the time, these aren’t even the kind of men we actually want. Why adjust your outfit — or yourself — to fit into someone’s taste who wouldn’t understand what makes you shine in the first place? If your earrings or your red tights are too much for him, that’s your sign, not your problem.

It’s even subtler with family. Except for my mom and my little brother, most people in my family prefer basic and quiet. They see dressing up as unnecessary or attention-seeking. So at family dinners, I instinctively tone it down. Because “we’re at home.” Because “it’s just family.” It’s the softest kind of conformity — quiet, almost invisible. But it’s still shrinking.

And then there’s that line we all say when we host: “It’s just a chill thing, wear whatever.” We say it because we’re afraid of being overdressed in our own living room. But what if we stopped apologizing for dressing up? If someone wants to wear red tights to a kitchen dinner, let them. If someone wants to wear heels for no reason at all, why not.

Because dressing up isn’t about being appropriate. It’s about letting your personality breathe. Clothes are not a mission or a performance for others — they’re a playground. They’re how we take up space without asking for permission.

This week, I’m done negotiating with my closet. I’m done shrinking to make other people more comfortable. If I want to wear the top, the rings, the red tights, I will. And if someone doesn’t get it, that’s not my problem. And it shouldn’t be yours either.

Getting dressed is not a group project. It’s an act of self-expression. So wear the outfit. Every time. Dress for yourself. Don’t dress to be understood. Don’t dress to match the room. Don’t dress to please men who aren’t even your type.

So this week: play. And don’t apologise for it.

Getting Dressed Is Not a Group Project

How to tell If you actually love it - or if your brain’s just lying again :)