On Dressing for My Mental Health
Why playing in my wardrobe helps keep me sane
As a child, I absolutely adored playing dress-up.
I had a costume box filled to the brim: tutus and crowns for princess days, cowboy hats and vests for Western moods, plus so many strands of fake pearls for…well, always. I kept every Halloween costume, in case I ever had an event where I needed to resemble The Little Mermaid or Laura Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie. It brought me so much joy. Coco Chanel may have believed in taking something off before heading out the door, but I was all about putting at least one more thing on.
My love of clothing carried into adolescence, where I spent many hours in sewing classes with the hopes of becoming a fashion designer. My notebooks were equally filled with stories and outfit sketches. I even sold a few designs at a local boutique, and explored trademarking my brand name: RAGGs by Rachel (my initials are R.A.G.G. so this felt very clever at age ten).
Things changed in high school. I realized how vicious the industry was, especially toward bodies like mine (anyone above a size 10). While another wave of the body positivity movement would crash in the early 2010s, bringing plus-size options and models into the spotlight, extended sizes remained othered and separate from straight-sized styles throughout my youth. I’m happy in adulthood now to see the rise of truly size-inclusive brands such as Universal Standard and Parade alongside broader options at Anthropologie, J. Crew, and even Abercrombie. But fifteen years ago, this reality didn’t feel possible, and therefore neither did my designing dreams.
My passion for fashion didn’t fade, though. I just channeled it into my daily outfits.
I worked within the “business casual” bounds of my Catholic school dress code, pairing knee-length skirts with vintage blazers and proudly earning the “Best Dressed” superlative senior year. While classmates in college rolled up to class in sweats—before athleisure stuff was stylish—I had a growing collection of white button downs, boyfriend jeans, and chunky sweaters. In grad school, I got really into big collars and nice coats. My closet was filled to the brim. It was colorful and textured and unique. And it helped assure I never matched anyone else.
This attitude has carried into my career. Post-graduation, I’ve mostly held a combination of freelance and office jobs, neither of which require any particular wardrobe. But that doesn’t stop me from regularly sporting tulle, rocking polkadots, or incorporating glitter wherever possible. As the sign on the wall of my office reads: Life is too short to wear boring clothes.
On a practical level, being the girl donning the distinct look gives me an advantage. Lots of people emailed me in February after I spent two weeks of conferences sporting Valentine’s Day sweaters because the clothes helped them remember the books I promoted. Same went for my spring duds at a trade show in April, and the sequins I shine in each month hosting Wine and Pine. I like being remembered for a solid #OOTD. I also enjoy sharing the looks on Instagram and from time to time getting a little love from my favorite shops and brands. But there’s also a very personal reason why I take getting dressed so seriously.
A good outfit does a lot for my mental health.
Part of growing up in a culture that doesn’t respect bigger bodies—not only in fashion but in life generally—meant that I, too, did not respect my body. I spent years thinking my inability to fit into the single digit sizes meant something was wrong with me, that I should be ashamed of the chub rub I got wearing uncomfortable mini skirts or my bust automatically making v-necks look too busty. I sucked in, skipped meals, and stared at myself with an endlessly critical eye, hoping under enough pressure I could shape my lump of clay frame into a sharper commodity. I didn’t think I’d ever be a supermodel, but I hoped I might stop staring at my reflection in store windows while walking home and instantly noticing my waist was twice the width of the mannequin’s.
This negative feeling came over me mostly when I wore uncomfortable things that I endured for their supposed trendiness, or when I put no effort into my clothes. During the pandemic, I was my most depressed, and also lost track of the last time I’d styled an outfit that didn’t involve an elastic waistband. I realized a large part of what I missed about going into the office or the classroom or out to dinner wasn’t just the people, but the clothes I got to wear. Twirling in dresses! Buckling belts! Shoes, so many shoes! All of it together turned me into a prettier version of myself, an outgoing version, and I couldn’t be that person in what were basically pajamas.
As “normal life” slowly reopened, I threw open the doors to my closet, too, with a smile. Hello, old friends, I thought, it’s been too long. We’ve definitely been making up for the lost looks.
I wouldn’t say dressing with this mental benefit in mind is easy. I’m often late thanks to trying to dig around for the correct blue sundress or my inability to decide if a floral hat, floral shirt, floral sweater, and floral sneakers is “too much” (the verdict: never). Traveling in particular requires a lot of packing energy. But I enjoy the process, and the end result always feels worth it. I like myself more when I put in the effort, and being more positive makes me like everything else more, too. Even the most boring days of spreadsheet-crunching at work.
Every morning now places me back in that childhood dress-up mindset. I’m not thinking about my body. I’m not thinking about my inevitably packed day. For half an hour or so, I’m focused solely on having fun. And it’s truly fabulous.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
Looking for a spicy read this summer? Lynn Painter’s latest novel Happily Never After provides. Sophie and Max meet when he’s hired to object at Sophie’s wedding to save her from marrying the wrong guy. Soon, they become partners in breaking up weddings, then friends, then something else. Get a copy from Parnassus Books in Tennessee.
I am obsessed with the Bridgerton x Selkie collaboration. Selkie is known for poofy party dresses, but these crossover pieces take the fun of Regency romance puffed sleeves, corsets, and ruffles, then put a modern spin on them. The pieces are named for characters in the Netflix show and are available for pre-order now. As always, they’re super size-inclusive.
Few things feel as quintessentially American summer as a trip to the Dairy Queen (though the NYC one sadly closed in the pandemic due to rent hikes). From Dilly Bars to classic vanilla soft serve cones with twisty tops, there are lots of treats to choose from. I’m currently loving their Frosted Animal Cookie Blizzard, back for a limited time only.