Cruising towards my mid-40s has offered unexpected joys, especially when it comes to my wardrobe. It’s a sweltering summer day in the Midwest, and I slip into a billowy dress crafted from breathable cotton. “Going full women’s studies professor today, huh?” my wife quips, a touch of admiration in her voice. I respond with an exaggerated arch of my brow, lamenting, “Where did my clogs go?”—despite knowing it’s far too warm for them. In these moments, I relish the growing sense of freedom that comes with age. The stilettos and restrictive shapewear of my past are long gone.
Reflecting on my younger years, I remember the body dysmorphia that haunted me during my adolescence. Coming of age was particularly complicated: I had nonconformist parents who approached fashion with disdain for the mainstream. They instilled in me a sense of thrift over style, detesting the idea of spending frivolously on brand-name attire. As a teenager, I felt decidedly awkward, laden with insecurities as my body developed before my peers.
Clothes became a shield for me, though I often felt trapped between competing aesthetic choices. As I navigated my youth during the early 90s, the ideals of beauty shifted dramatically. Supermodels like Cindy Crawford gave way to the heroin chic look represented by Kate Moss, sparking a tumultuous relationship with my body and self-image. With a wave of an eating disorder, I was forced to confront societal pressures, but being raised in a feminist environment offered me an intellectual foundation to recognize how deeply I had been influenced by media and consumer culture.
By 14, I embraced my queer identity, rejecting societal norms constraining women. I opted for comfort over expectations: overalls, thrifted men’s clothing, and a memorable girlfriend by my side. My late teens brought a different type of transformation; drug addiction changed my physicality, and I gravitated towards provocative outfits, shifting styles to mirror the identities I played in various friend groups.
With recovery came a stabilization of my style, and I found myself inspired by various aesthetics without becoming typecast. I often wondered about the sartorial choices that awaited me in midlife. The assumption was that adulthood meant losing vibrancy—waving goodbye to the miniskirts and combat boots and ushering in a monotonous wardrobe of drab pieces. Yet, facing my 36th year, I discovered a surprising liberation after a significant breakup; I took time for myself and, without the pressure of seeking approval, explored what I genuinely enjoyed wearing.
Gradually, I began to shed my fears of what middle age might hold for my sense of style. No longer did I want to shy away from flat shoes or take a back seat to discomfort. My perception evolved into recognizing the beauty of being authentically myself, especially as I surrounded myself with supportive, like-minded individuals. With a solid relationship shaping my life, I found myself prioritizing comfort and joy in my fashion choices.
By the time I reached my 43rd birthday, I was liberated from the constraints of the male gaze, feeling confident in dressing for myself. The past ideas of midlife being dull and colorless fell away, replaced by an invigorating reality of rich experiences and deeper connections. I’ve embraced my quirky sense of style, dabbling in pieces that honor my eclectic journey while solidifying my identity as a writer and creative spirit. Instead of a barren closet of uninspired items, I curate a collection full of playful, well-made clothing that speaks to every version of who I am.
The surprise of midlife has proven to be remarkable, offering new perspectives on life and self-expression. Reimagining my wardrobe has become a source of joy rather than duty, inviting me to explore every facet of my identity with newfound enthusiasm. As I look forward to what the future holds, I relish this continuation of growth—if this is midlife, I can hardly wait for what lies ahead.