When I was a teen, I had an eccentric sense of style. Of course I did; I went to an arts school.
I often described my aesthetic as a blend between “a 1950s housewife, a 1980s teen queen, and a British schoolboy.” You can see hints of these elements here and there in my old outfit photos: sequins, neckties, red lipstick. I had fun getting dressed every day and it showed.
While the intensity of my look mellowed somewhat over the years as I trudged into adulthood, the “British schoolboy” component is definitely the one I’ve lost touch with the most. See, in high school, I dated exclusively women and nonbinary people until my last year, having come out as bisexual in the 10th grade – and in those contexts, I felt more desirable (and more desired) when I dressed with an androgynous or even masculine flair. I felt strong and put-together in my blazers, bowties, jeans and boots. It sometimes felt like drag – fake and theatrical, given my overarchingly femme gender identity and expression. But sometimes it felt exactly right. And I think it had to do with who I was dating.
My inner androgyny has never really faded – I still have plenty of days where I wake up feeling butch or boyish – but my confidence in dressing that way has definitely eroded to some degree. Dating mostly men for many years put me in a patriarchally-driven “feminine = sexy” mindset, especially since so many of those men vocally loved when I dressed girly. I loved it too – most of the time. But not always.