I am the most overdressed person at the grocery store
Written by Erin Norton
A few months ago, I was taking my partner out to dinner. I reserved a quaint little parisian-esque tiled table at the local fancy place where we would order martinis, appetizers, and a freshly baked soufflé. I’ve always been one for extravagance. My partner has a tastefully limited wardrobe, so their outfit was verging on business casual. I, on the other hand, have a wardrobe some would consider excessive. As we were getting ready for our meal, I checked in: Can I wear something kind of extra? And to that, my partner replied: Yes, please, baby. I mismatched their corduroys and button down with an off the shoulder, deep maroon Reformation dress. Personally, I thought my partner looked very sexy and put together. But, it really didn’t matter to me what they wore. It mattered to me that I had the privilege of sharing a meal with them. It was the privilege of our quality time that mattered to me.
I was spending some downtime with my mother a couple of weeks later and she questioned me about our outfit choices from that date. Honey, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but why did you dress up so much if your partner wasn’t doing the same? I explained that I personally enjoy any kind of excuse to enhance my appearance. Sadly, working a 9 to 5 doesn’t allow me much time to get dolled up in the morning (you will rarely catch me waking up early to get ready, I prioritize my sleep over everything). It also doesn’t allow me much time to attend events where fanciness is the bare minimum.
In my mom’s defense, if my partner and I were accidentally channeling that one paparazzi photo of Hailey and Justin Bieber… We’d have a huge problem on our hands. I am happy to report that this was not the case.
I used to get a lot of comments on the outfits I’d wear to middle school. These fits included a bright pistachio colored hoodie over a thrifted and embellished pencil dress, and an XL hot pink t-shirt with my dogs’ paw prints stamped in colorful inks on the front, cinched with a braided teal belt, and layered over sea foam colored leggings. I stood out against my Lululemon wearing peers and often received backhanded compliments from them. But their side eyes never stopped me from my fashion antics. While I was far from being a“ normie” in high school, my outfit decisions mellowed out somewhat and I became more twee or art hoe-esque. I would wear overalls and thrifted sweaters. If my hair was up in any way, trust that there was a red ribbon in it. On my face, I’d don my signature large circular frames and powder my cheeks with pounds of drugstore, sparkly blush. I’d take selfies on apps that filtered the pictures to make them look like film. On the DL, I just wanted to be a Dodie clone, but dressing in this manner was thrilling, a quirky kind of freedom that helped me gain a sense of individualism when I was just 16. Even my senior photos were off-kilter and had their own unique“ fashion crimes” but goddamnit, I was free. I thought I was the coolest girl to walk the face of the earth.
Adding fuel to my fashionista fire was my job at Marimekko. Every season, we had the opportunity to pick out wardrobe pieces to wear to work. Marimekko, for the uninitiated, is a Finnish lifestyle brand that became somewhat popular in the US when Jackie O was photographed in a simple, bubblegum pink Marimekko garment for a 1960 edition of Sports Illustrated. From that moment, Marimekko earned a cult following and eventually opened a handful of stores in the US. I had the pleasure of working at the Outlet in Manchester, Vermont as well as one of the flagship locations in Boston. After working there for years, I earned my own whimsical wardrobe that I would never hesitate to wear.
I have continued wearing big glasses into my adulthood (much to my mother’s dismay), but I’ve replaced my blush addiction with ultramarine colored mascara that should get an award for the amount of compliments it gets me. This being said, I feel as though I should make a public announcement: I did not come up with blue mascara for daily wear. There was this really cool girl I went to high school with, who I really looked up to at the time, and she wore blue mascara. Gwen, I ripped off your look, but thank you for the inspiration! Upon my entrance to the“ real world” post-grad, I was very nervous that a full time job would eliminate any kind of fashion autonomy I possessed, but it’s really quite the opposite. Fashion feels like a challenge. My objective when I get dressed is not to be the weirdest looking bookseller at my bookstore job (shocker, right?). Instead, I take the time to find something comfortable and“ myself.” I’ve been layering patterns and putting short dresses over jeans, never forgetting to apply blue mascara in order to have some kind of signature look. Business casual can be fun, despite popular belief.
Nowadays, it seems as though the majority of people on social media try their hand at being trendsetters, or at the very least, influencers. Being a writer and all, I am not free from these allegations, I’m simply calling the kettle black here. But I’ve noticed there’s a lack of“ different.” There is a plethora of new content, but everything is just an amalgamation of what’s already existed. It’s exhausting and brain numbing. In a sea of advertisements for cinching leggings and collagen gummies, I want to be that“ cringey” Tumblr girl who takes terrible pics at the local grocery store. I want to wear Converse with a fancy dress. I want to stand out against the crowd, not for attention. I want my individualism to be loud like my laugh, the kind of laugh that’s always met with shhhh’s. I hope that one day I can become a physical manifestation of my joy.
