Dressing for the Life You Design, Not the One You've Already Lived

How survivors, rebuilders, and everyday warriors use intentional clothing as a daily declaration of forward motion

The phone call was made in a mild state of panic. "What do I wear?" It was casual, yet an important gathering. Jeans and a t-shirt or hoodie wouldn't suffice.

The calming voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a friend with great style. "All white," he replied. I felt a flash of past-life eating disorder terror. Decades of recovery from a former existence still left indelible impressions and judgments.

We all get caught in our usual day-to-day activities. It's an easy fallback. In this post-COVID existence, getting out can still feel bizarre and unusual. Compound that with the excuse of a variety of physical challenges, and the answer often seems to be: just stay home and complain that our lives aren't expanding.

This particular evening brought an invitation to a local political group's women's mixer, hosted in a bar a short walk from my apartment on New York City's Upper West Side. I simply had no good excuse not to go. The event was early enough in the evening that, being summer, it would still be daylight when I returned home. As the great Dr. Wayne Dyer would say: "Excuses Be Gone."

I had met and stayed in touch with many of the organizers and attendees during my own political campaign months prior. It was a new and interesting community, and I wanted to make a statement. There's no better way to step into a new sense of self than through the choice of attire.

When my style friend said "all white," I regressed for a brief moment, jaunting back to my early twenties — a chubby, insecure, broke, and fearful version of myself. Like Cher in the famous Moonstruck scene, slapping Nicolas Cage and saying "Snap out of it," I shook my head hard to shift my state.

My fear instinct, and my past sense of self, told me to play it insignificant, casual, not too bold. Fortunately, I listened to my friend instead. Grateful that time was short — no possibility of a closet war — I pulled out sleek white pants, an off-white silk top, and a gorgeous white, three-quarter-sleeve light jacket. They fit. There was never any reason they wouldn't.

Deciding not to look in the mirror and face my inner critic, I grabbed a small black bag, also instructed by my friend, and left the house.

Despite navigating a dark bar and an even darker staircase down to the event space, I knew this was the right choice. I felt empowered, confident, sexy, and smart. It was casual, yet it made a statement: I am here. I will be seen. I will be heard. I will take up space.

I felt my spine grow straighter. Welcomed by colleagues in a small, dark private event room, I was literally the light — all in white. The guest speaker had recently won his primary race in another part of New York State. We had met months earlier while both campaigning. He remembered me. I was invited to ask a question and share some ideas. He personally asked me to be part of a group photo.

I couldn't help but wonder how I would have felt if I'd given in to my smaller, more comfortable self — the person who wanted to hide behind forty extra pounds and clothes so oversized I often looked like a rag doll.

In one bold move, the clothes gave me full permission to step into the life of my own design, leaving the life of a past self far behind.

As the evening progressed, so did my comfort in this new look and feel.

At any point, we can create a new story, reinvent ourselves, or step into a new role. We are the same person; the layers of the proverbial onion are simply peeling back. It's similar to being sore after a workout — a momentary discomfort, but the end result is generally an improved physical, emotional, and spiritual outcome.

When we dress for the life we design, we step into that state of being. I honestly didn't believe it until this recent experience, but it's true. Freedom is in consistently moving forward, learning from the past, and letting it go.