I Have Nothing To Wear

But a closet full of clothes.

It's unusual for me to leave the house more than once every week. If homebody had a face, it would be mine. For my predilection to stay at home, I won't blame the pandemic alone. The pandemic only helped me come into my own. Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to hiding beneath the layers of loungewear. 

I recently had to go to a work meeting and a social event, both of which I hadn't done in a while. Choosing an appropriate outfit was a nightmarish pursuit. Trying to make sense of the term ‘appropriate’ was so tormenting that I almost decided not to go. Much of the lure of staying in comes from not having to decide how best to present myself to the world. 

Even before the pandemic, the hours I spent deliberating my outfit options is no joke. And since the pandemic, in all the years that we have lost and gained (in age), I have also developed a curious case of gastrointestinal bloating. As if my clothing choices weren’t already restricted by age, gender, weather, city, society, whatnot, that corporeal distress has been added to the list.

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Photo by Alyssa Strohmann on Unsplash

The commonly misrepresented statement “I have nothing to wear” rarely indicates a dearth of sartorial choices.

When I say that I have nothing to wear, I attempt to describe a peculiar state of paralysis that stems from heightened self-consciousness. Of wanting to be seen, yet not standing out. As someone who is identified as a woman, I must always look good; good enough but never too good. 

When I dress fancy in the all-women's coach of the Delhi Metro, the unsolicited attention chastises me for my display of wealth. I would dress down if I could, but in the eyes of the venue to which I’m headed, I’m already dressed far too plainly. The Metro should have been a leveller, but in my city, it divides along the lines of class and gender.

When the brutality of the tropical Indian summer dictates that I dress scantily, the punitive gaze compels me to cover up. My clothing choices can’t keep up with the changing weather. Maybe that’s why I love the winter, and only the winter.

I want to dress in a way to find acceptance:

• at home

• within spaces of transit

• at the destination

Each of these places needs me to be a different kind of person, to live by its unique expectations. So, as someone who can afford it, I move between the private spaces of my home, personal vehicle, and exclusive destination. This is not a choice that is accessible to everyone, firstly. Secondly, these private spaces are hardly exempt from the rules.

What should I wear to the park or on the street, where my presence is not a direct attestation of my purchasing power?

The answer is not simple. Choosing something to wear is a battle in which the mind, body, self, and society are up in arms against each other. 

Instead of trying to hide, veil or clothe ourselves– either literally, or by staying at home, by commuting in a women-only coach, by trying to be slim, silent, or simply insubstantial, we need to be seen, in all shapes, sizes and forms, everywhere and all the time. We must first answer the question, “Why are we afraid to be seen?”

Only then can we begin to reclaim our rooms and our roads, without having to worry about what we’re wearing.