Meditations on St Andrews' Style
by Marlowe Bjorklund
Scurrying past Rocca, the other day, it felt as though I was en route to a Milanese Fashion Show. Every day I wake up, hit the gym to walk the treadmill with Sally Mapstone, and by the time I get home I only have one thing on my mind. What am I going to wear? Shampoo, rinse, maybe brown shoes? Conditioner, wait, no I should wear my red cowboy boots, rinse. Drying myself off I think about what would work with those stompers. I pull out bootcut jeans with a snake running down my left leg, a cowboy-themed camp shirt from a few summers back, and now it’s the fun part. A spritz or three of cologne, and I look into my jewellery box. Clearly, I need my red coral necklace, because vibes. I go through every minor step, make sure the outfit is properly balanced, look into the mirror and decide that today, just like yesterday and just like tomorrow, I will be that bitch.
Of all the fears I have in life, clowns, dying alone, the politics of the United States, one of my major concerns is looking bland. I have such respect for the minimal stylists of St Andrews, walking around in their button-downs, sweaters, and Daunt Books tote bags — it’s a real aesthetic. There is something to that effortlessly chic look that I have forced myself to do, just because I had to see if I could. Looking as though you didn’t spend twelve minutes getting your hair to curl just perfectly only to pull it into a ponytail. I admit that I love the students striding around in their taupes, tans, and tweeds. But it makes me want to cry with joy whenever I see people wearing loud, bold, colourful patterns because I can see the effort, the thought, and the desire to express oneself.
All throughout social media, there has been this rise of “quiet luxury” or “old money” which to me, is so passé. Without getting too weedy, I understand the role of envy in our society, it’s not lost on someone who dresses in an outrageous manner that I draw people’s attention, and that could draw some negativity from them. It just does not prevent me from authentically expressing and exploring my style - and it shouldn’t prevent you from doing the same. This idea of elegance being in layers of beige, cream, and grey? I’d literally shoot myself if I had to dress Paltrow-Court Core any more than a week. Don’t you remember when the upper class got decked in such luxurious fabrics and ridiculous styles that we chopped off their heads? I miss those days…
Over the summer I was doing some little metaphysical thinking because I am 20, because I watch too much leftist YouTube, and because it’s seasonally appropriate to consider the metaphysical properties when you’re more alone with your thoughts than Descartes probably was. At the core of some of these thoughts was my identity crisis. I came home after a terrible year at school, I wanted to be comforted, and the only clothes I had at home were the T-Shirts I bought when I was fifteen and wouldn’t know a fit if it bit me on the ass. I looked… normal. It was horrifying. I’m so glad I didn’t see anyone. There is reliability in the armour that clothes provide. Perhaps for you, the armour isn’t vintage embroidered shirts and colourful kicks like it is for me, you might wear a sweatshirt and neutral corduroys, or bell bottom jeans and a polo, or a dress from Target that you love to pieces. It does not matter if you’re decked in the Gucci and the Prada and the Raaa Raaa Balenciaga. What matters is that you dress how you want. Not because everyone dresses that way, but given who you are, what would you don if you felt completely able? It doesn’t need to be expensive; it needs to be real.
People need to have freedom. People need to have flair. I find the frenetic pace of online trends to be absolutely detrimental to the authentic exploration of style and design. By the time I heard about the “Blueberry Milk Nails” trend, it was over and long dead in the grave. First of all, those nails were baby blue. Powder blue at most. Am I the only one losing my mind over this? People spend years developing their authentic selves, and I feel as though the advent of rapid media is destroying this. Don’t be afraid to be outrageous. Don’t be afraid to be subtle. Don’t be afraid to explore colour. Don’t be afraid to sometimes look bad because you’re trying something new. If you nailed every outfit you wear, I’d say you either aren’t trying very hard to stylistically explore yourself, or you should start an omelette business.
People are very dictated by fear and judgement which hugely impacts how they dress, and beyond just that I think that the idea of fashion being unattainable is very real. Micro trends are the death of self-expression because when people cannot feel stable or chic in their own burgeoning style because it’s not the “hot new thing” it makes it more difficult to build trust with yourself. People need to be able to experiment with their style without feeling shunned because “sage green is out” (it isn’t) or because “low rise is just chicer” (do you hear that? It’s me vomiting in the corner).
St Andrews is a unique place. I mean at the graduation ceremony they had a projector telling new graduates that “the bubble will miss you!” (Wait a few years and that’ll hit harder than American first years and Club Card vodka during Freshers). Over the summer when I had nothing to wear but Paul Frank T-shirts from 2008 and my pre-Trump J Crew shorts, I began to realise one of the things about this little town is how easy it is to try. Putting effort in is never out, and I feel inspired every day in this town because I know I will be seen. My effort will be appreciated. I will run into friends, I will strut through St. Mary’s, and I will have the Barista make eyes at me. If I can push you to do anything, it is to go out and explore who you want to be from a style standpoint. To be adventurous with yourself, and to live authentically how you want to be. Clothes will help you feel you.