by Marlowe Bjorklund

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, and when I do this naked, I tear my body to shreds... There is this tendency towards self-hatred that confuses my parents so much. My father constantly reflects to me about how kids in his hometown growing up didn’t hate themselves like how it sounds kids growing up around me have. People are now mean to themselves in a way he doesn’t recognise. My mother recognises it more, but she grew up in the Church, and every good catholic needs to be a little self-hating. If the answer to loving yourself could be internally found, why do we need a God? So sometimes when I am there, looking in the mirror, questioning the shape of my ribs, if my waist looks half an inch wider today than yesterday, and if that makes me a morally worse person, I remember the goal. The goal you ask? Well, it’s to look better naked.

I love clothes. I would say to ask my friends about this passion, but I am afraid they might say I have a problem, and I don’t have time for a twelve-step program right now. If I may be so bold, clothes are among my favourite things. Occasionally when I am home alone, I get a little less than sober, and I deep clean. That’s always the start of a truly wild evening. On all fours, wiping the baseboards, lamenting how I will never get to be the 1950s housewife I always have dreamed of being. Then once the flat is spotless, or I take off my glasses and pretend there are no spots left, I go to my room and look at myself for twenty to thirty minutes in the mirror trying on different outfits. I am not embarrassed to admit how much I enjoy that vanity. It allows me a little time to think through the outfits that I have planned for the week. Paint-splattered pants, hand-woven broaches, my new bracelets from the Crystal shop. How will they work together? It’s colour play, it’s meditative, it’s a journey of thinking through presentation that I value. — It’s also finding the most artful ways to hide my body. — Isn’t that part of what clothes do? Hide our vulnerable nudity from the prying eyes of judgement?

Clothing is armour. Clothing is protection. Clothing is expression. From a Western historic standpoint, coverage was key. I won’t get nitty gritty here about how clothes have varied across cultures, and how nudity is approached differently across cultures, because we have essays due soon, and nobody has time for that. Clothes are protection from the elements, layers, warmth, and along with that was always some level of status. How much excess can you have? How much whale is in your corset? How many pearls were sewn into your bodice? How many petticoats are you wearing? There were layers on layers, a lasagne of clothing to keep your body private. I think part of it is weather, part of it is cultures of shame, and part of it is preserving mystery. Mystery is sexy, it’s confusing, it’s unknown; and unknown might mean anything. To me, people have hidden their bodies for so many reasons. Part of why I hide my body? Hatred. Fear. Insecurity. Part of why I show my body? Love. Confidence. At a basic level: wanting to be seen. To be desired. I can prove to myself that I can body my confidence.

One of my best friends loves when I wear crop tops. Not only because I look like “a slutty 1970s twink” and she “loves seeing my slutty little waist” but also... because it’s fun. It is fun to show off your body, it is fun to feel confident as the wind licks your stomach and heads of confused golfers try to figure out if it’s okay to enjoy the look of you walking by. Part of what I love about brands like Orttu, Ottolinger, and other designers who don’t start with Os, is the skin exposed and structure of the garments. I feel as though we have been having a renaissance of exposure in the face of how closed off we have been. People are literally bodying their clothes. Showing off that they are a body, a person, a physical form, and that that should be promoted. I hope this continues.

Clothing is so much more than a basic use of coverage. The modernists might disagree with me, I always enjoyed more ornamentation than a Bauhaus Master might. That is alright, to each their own. Clothing is externalising yourself. Clothing is how people see you before you open your mouth and say hello. Clothing is the initial introduction to who you might be. Clothing is a way of self-defence, and a way to defend yourself. Defence is not always literal in this sense, to some it might be hiding behind basic, afraid that to be bold would be to draw attention. To others, it might be being as bold as you can be, daring people to stop and stare. Armour is not universal in its implementation, especially when it's made of cotton and wool instead of steel and iron.

I hope that people continue to wear unique clothes that allow them to best promote their own confidence. Not every outfit is meant for a runway, some are meant for a cheeky Tesco run or a coffee date because of all the random friends you ran into on said Tesco run. I want people to be confident. I don’t want us to hide in our clothes. I want us to be proud of how we look, how we feel in our bodies, and how we present ourselves. Presentation has always been instilled as an important element in me. From school uniforms to going to events with my mother, to performing on stage. I have had people ogling me from an early age. As a man who doesn’t fit into the typical heteronormative preconception of how men ought to present, I have been called named, stared at, harassed, and all other manner of boundary-breaking moves. It did not occur to me to hide, because hiding was something that didn’t work for peers of mine who tried. So I decided to stand out. I decided to always raise my hand, always have an opinion, and always be the first to break the silence when a question is asked because I was pushed into others' perceptions before I was ready. So I decided to always be ready. The first step to this was always clothing. It was always dressing in a way that screamed “I am me, and you don’t dare to be.” Clothing has always been the outer layer protecting me from the world: be it the wind or the woefully uninspired insults thrown from cars passing by.

However, at the end of the day, I always do the same set of things. I take all of my clothes off, I strip off the layers of bracelets and rings and coordinated fabrics, and I put them away or in the hamper. I wrap myself in a towel and go to take my evening shower. At the end of the day, when I am with myself, the armour that clothing has been for me must fall away. It all comes off and I look into the mirror by my shower and I am forced to see the vulnerable side that my Hawaiian shirt, patterned pants, and cow beanie have hidden from the world. I get in the shower and bathe. Then I get out, and I go back to my room, and before I get to bed, whether or not I intend to, I look in the mirror hanging over my dresser and reexamine how I look at the end of the day. When I am there in the mirror, picking my appearance to pieces, I remind myself that it doesn’t matter at the end of the day if my waist changes a little. Firstly, I barely know what I look like. Secondly, the goal isn’t to control like that. That my friend, will get you nowhere. The goal is still to look better naked. The goal is to be confident. The goal is to know that you’re doing just fine, or you will be someday.

I love clothes, and I have a terrible time giving up my clothes. Give yourself permission to hold onto only the clothes that you love, be them sentimental or because when you put them on you feel your best self. After all, clothes should be tailored to your body, your body isn’t meant to be tailored for clothes. Clothes are armour, and armour is meant to protect. If that protection comes from fat knit sweats, or skimpy skirts, that is your prerogative. Listen to the good, follow the love and the confidence, and go body your clothes. So let this be a little prompt for you. Go to your closet, and find those clothes that you never feel truly confident in. Marie Kondo them. Tell them you love them (or don’t and tell them to piss off), and donate them. Give them to a friend who covets them. Pass the pants along to someone whose butt will look banger in them. Why hold onto reminders of insecurities?

Love your clothes, and love how you look in them. Love the way you feel protected. Love the safety that you find in the defence of fabrics on fabric. Love the strength that flows through you when you put on your favourite jeans, or the shirt that you know you’ll be complimented on. Love that you’ve structured a system of defence from the world, one that is artful, and one that is beautiful. However, all the while, don’t forget that you are not your clothes. You are what is underneath. That is infinitely more valuable than the clothes, no matter the designer label or sentimental value. At the end of the day, the clothes will come off, and it will be just you again. Love that version just as much, and it’ll make you all the stronger when you’re layered up.