I said I would return to The Dandy At Dusk, and here I am: back to ponder a couple of interesting quotes from the book. Both speak to things that have been on my mind lately, apropos of personal style.
Iâve been feeling like a bit of walking clichĂ© lately. I remember reading articles, when I was younger, about the innate un-coolness of people who get âstuckâ on the trends of their âglory daysâ (usually high school) and thinking: that is never going to be me. If, for no other reason, because I hated high school and, even if pressed, canât think of any time in my personal life that would call my âglory daysâ. Maybe, like, 2019? 2019 was definitely a good year. Anyway, notwithstanding my earlier youthful assurance, I am here to confess that I am those people now. Lately, I have become obsessed with the 90s ⊠which were — coincidence?? — my high school and early university years.
I know the 90s were far from perfect, but the music was banging. And the fashion? A lot of it was surprisingly good. Wasnât it? Or am I speaking through the rose-coloured glasses of a middle-aged stereotype?
The Dandy At Dusk reassures me. Philip Mann writes: âArbiters of taste often return for their inspiration to the prevailing aesthetic of their childhood.â
Hah!
I am not a cheugy geriatric millennial; I am an “arbiter of taste”, ok?
I think one of the key things to unpack here is the phrase “return for their inspiration”. I see a distinction here, between wearing the actual clothes of one’s youth versus infusing one’s current style with influences pulled from the fashion of one’s youth. For me, there is an element of curation at play; not re-living the past, but rather incorporating some of its flavour into the present while keeping an eye on the future.
I have always been more vulnerable to nostalgia than most; I think some people just are. History as a whole, not only my own, fascinates me; how people lived in the past, their objects, etc. As I have gotten older, I’ve come to understand that there is a danger in that — the possibility of looking back too much, so to speak, and not being open enough to the possibility of change. So my perspective now is that the past informs who I am now and might be tomorrow, but doesn’t define me nor set my future path in stone. The past is not inherently better; indeed, I think nostalgia is a kind of wilful blindness — it only remembers what it wants to remember, and sometimes it’s even things that did not exist. Strangely enough, reading old magazines has helped me to see this clearly; contemporaneous writing often reveals things our nostalgia would have us forget about the past.
I am curious whether this current obsession with the 90s will fade over time, to be replaced by one with other eras. Maybe there *is* something unique about the period associated with our youth which makes it prime material for inspiration-mining, and maybe it has nothing to do with whether we actually enjoyed our youth or not. What do you think?
Another quote from The Dandy at Dusk that stood out to me was this one: “⊠under capitalism taste is not autonomous, as one would expect of a system that promotes competitive individualism, but tends rather to be collective. ⊠The market requires that everything must be likeable, as everything must be saleable.”
Doesn’t that last sentence hit hard in this age of the Instagram aesthetic? I know it’s trite these days to blame everything on capitalism but, damn, capitalism has a lot to answer for. Including the flattening of individuality, it seems. Obviously, there are bigger problems in the world, but I think homogeneity of aesthetics is a bad thing. I can’t articulate this thought as well I would like, but I am concerned with how seeing the same visual aesthetic — in clothes, interior design, art, whatever — over and over changes how we think. I think it acts like … a sort of numbing cream for the mind. I’ve talked about this before, but it’s why I am so particular about curating my social media experience. I try to keep my feed as diverse as possible, because I believe growth comes from being exposed to new things all the time. I do create a “bubble” around myself when it comes to certain issues (politics and human rights, for example), but otherwise I am actively trying to seek out different perspectives as much as I can.
I have also been coming to grips with the idea that *I* don’t need to be likable or saleable. I don’t need my content to appeal to everybody. Having a niche audience that authentically appreciates and interacts with my content is what matters to me, even if it isn’t the capitalist ideal. Yes, that means that I will never be an influencer, but it means that I can be a content creator and interact with social media in a way that doesn’t make me feel terrible about myself. That being said, let me tell you: it is not easy letting go of the feeling that one needs to be “likable” at all times, to all people. It’s not even my own people-pleasing tendencies that are the (only) problem; the world remains decidedly unfriendly to women who evidence any sign of disinterest in likability (aka conforming to expectations). I am a bit of a coward, especially online. Ok, maybe “coward” is too harsh; I just hate conflict and unpleasant conversations, and having been on the receiving end of unsolicited comments for years — most of them nice, don’t get me wrong — I know that I would struggle to remain equanimous in the face of a barrage of criticism. So I definitely still modulate how I communicate on social media in order to avoid coming across as unlikable, even if I do not actively pursue being likable. Something in that to think about.
But to bring this back to personal style (and a conclusion!), next time you hear someone — even yourself! — say “oh, I couldn’t possibly wear that”, sit back and think: why not? Give the finger to The Man and wear whatever you want. Personal style is not a commodity. It is a personal choice that need not be subject to the dictates of capitalism or anyone else.
