Dressing Accordingly

That the way one dresses in St Andrews is a prominent worry of everyday life is almost too obvious a fact to be writing about it. One grows up in the real world and gets accustomed to going to the supermarket wearing pyjamas and dirty sneakers. And just when one starts to think this is normal behaviour worldwide, they step out onto Market Street wearing just a hoodie and jeans, and instantly the regret hits them in the face with the wind power of Hurricane Bawbag. ‘They’, of course, meaning me.

 

I often complain about how difficult it is to ‘read’ people in St Andrews, and lately I have started to come to the conclusion that it all boils down to this insane obsession we have with looking impeccable constantly. The clothes we wear here are thought-through and renovated faster than the speed at which the seasons change—who knew that peach was summer’s new pink? And seriously, that coat is so last month. Keep up, will ya?

 

The problem is, I think, that the impeccability and composure which we try to communicate with our attires also has the effect of creating a barrier, a cold detachment whereby people come across as cold, unapproachable and stuck up…which is totally ridiculous, because many people here are just as laid-back, quirky and unique as one might hope. And yet, isn’t it sad that so much of our ‘character’ seems to be reflected in what we wear? I think, what would we do if it weren’t for our colourful, trendy shawls, Louis-Vuitton handbags or brand-new hightops? Indeed, what would we be? I would love to dare our entire student community to ‘be ourselves’ when wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and white cotton t-shirts. No accessories allowed. Would we still be able to show our ‘character’? Imagine if we all walked around town naked and we only had our actual characters to fend for ourselves and the image of ourselves we want to project. It makes me scared just to turn this possibility into a silly hypothesis, and believe me, I am trying not to be hypocritical—my own wardrobe has undergone some serious transformations during my time here.

 

Worse still, I think, is the experience I’ve had of late. Because I feel that as I put on my clothes in the morning and slap some make up onto my cheeks, I’m covered, there’s no need to make any extra effort to ‘be’. I put on my ‘Fran costume’ and go about life immersed in my head and looking out only in times of need—what are we doing to our bodies? I realise, not without some preoccupation, that we really do treat them like shells. I wish we could all let down a little, you know, literally let our hair down and realise that whatever clothes we put on might not safeguard us indeterminately. Not that it is a concern for most people here, but it is perhaps worthwhile to consider our options if, God forbid, one day we wouldn’t be able to afford keeping up with the latest trends. It wouldn’t be like walking around naked, but we would definitely have to stop relying on just our shells.