There is a me that no longer exists
but she exists in an archive of old material
shirts i’ll never wear, worn down shoes and parts of me that i’ve started to hate
I have come to realise that my identity can simply change with how I dress. An item that I rarely wear can sculpt a completely new person to strangers: maybe I’m more quaint than usual or perhaps I’m more boisterous. It is difficult to say that I am me especially when fashion becomes more performance than daily ritual. Every day a carefully crafted reimagination of self that is accompanied by a categorisation from social media vocabulary to facilitate a performance.
The concept of the ritualised self is at the core of lolita fashion culture. An importance is placed on an individualised identity where the wearer is akin to a performer. This is particularly pertinent in Theresa Winge’s analysis of lolita through ritualisation—and the preliminal, liminal, and postliminal states of dress. First, the preliminal state foregrounds the pre-establishment of character through the purchase of the clothes, makeup and accessories, separating the lolita from the dominant Japanese culture. The liminal state is where one learns the poses and mannerisms that come with being lolita, furthering lolita dress as a type of performance art that is more than just wearing clothes and made apparent through choice of ornamentation. During the postliminal state, an individual reincorporates themselves with the rest of Japanese society, presenting themselves to the subculture and dominant culture. They also acknowledge themselves as a lolita – an individual who is part of the collective—“she ceases to be herself she is a lolita.”
Winge’s analysis of dress has become valuable when studying contemporary fashion due to the ‘cute’ culture that popularises itself primarily through social media. Coquette, kawaii, and angel-core are just some words that have weaved their way into the vocabulary of teenagers and young adults.
The pre-liminal phase of performativity typically finds its beginnings in ornamentation and accessorisation with jewellery, a bag, or a small item that you attach to your outfit to elevate it. But there has been a trend in using collectable items to further elevate an entire look. In the past few years, the little angel boy who wears different headgear has risen in popularity, with individuals boasting their large collection — commonly known as Sonny Angels. Japanese designer Toru Soeya invented them to act as a companion for young working women dealing with stress, and they have accompanied many people in their day-to-day life, myself included. Acting as a little spark of happiness or laughter as you bring them out to show friends, it has opened up discussion about cute culture and its prevalence in indulgent consumption — this is cute, I need it. Fruit, animals, sweets and vegetables are some of the main categories available for the ‘trinket’: but what becomes of its original purpose when it exists in abundance?
Unfortunately, cute culture has created an environment that thrives off of collection and in turn feeds into patterns of overconsumption. Even a symbol such as ‘the bow’ has made its rounds in contemporary fashion as designers like Sandy Liang have placed it at the forefront of their brand. This indulgence in a singular style that we previously deemed as unique has not dismayed individuals from participation in that fashion culture but rather stresses the politics of fashion identity in its role of informing widespread trends. In turn, these trends and fads bring about a collector’s mentality, telling individuals that they must purchase these items to rectify their identity — from the old self to the new self. Thus, we are at a crossroads: a constant reconstruction and redefinition of one’s desired image while putting an aesthetic for display.
Women’s connection to their childhood self through a lens of reclamation does not absolve issues brought about by male surveillance, nor does it cease re-interpretation through voyeuristic intention. Instead it communicates the importance of agency in female dress, but it does not protect from oversexualisation and objectification. It is difficult to point out similar attitudes towards men’s fashion. When just as revealing clothes are worn by men, they aren’t tied to their sexual promiscuity. Their choices are not broken into countless categories, as there is a constant generalisation of men’s fashion as boring or plain. Though we see examples to define men who exist outside of the fashion norm described as male manipulator [core], male examples of dress still find themselves exempt from an overt emphasis on objectification or oversexualisation simply due to the fact that they are men.
The clothes that we wear form a voice of their own, but the conversation that they have with others is beyond our control. The conceptualisation of a fashion identity may act as a burden, as the adherence to subcultural and parent communities demonstrate a lack of willingness to surrender the ideals of uniformity and community. What is interesting about cuteness is that it has entwined itself with youth culture, acting as a form of rebellion against the norm. Yet, its perpetuation of innocence still conforms to patriarchal ideals of purity and childlike naivete: ‘desirable’ traits for women — how do we escape?
When we put on our clothes; decide to add a few little keyrings to our bag; bring a trinket along with us, who are we performing for? And why are we performing? It isn’t necessary to understand the simplicity of dress through a lens of performance but if individuals continue to find value in separating themselves from the dominant culture to embrace an imagined or real authenticity then there is significance in the narrative that is contemporary fashion as we allow our clothes to speak.
