Fashion as armor
My dad passed a little over two months ago. Although he had Alzheimer’s, it’s arguably the hardest thing I’ve gone through in my life, for many reasons, but most notably, he was My Person.
In November, the day after the election and the day before what would’ve been my dad’s 89th birthday, the other half of who I lovingly called “my guys,” my grandfather, also passed. He was 96 and had lived a full life as a badass Top Gun pilot (Tom Cruise, you wish), a brilliant engineer, and the ultimate hug-giver. Truly, I have not had a better one. He’s also the genesis of my love of dad jokes. He was lovingly known as Bops in my family.
Congrats if you’re still here reading this melancholy post opening. I’ve felt this has to be my reintroduction to Substack because after losing these two pillars of my life, my own internal structure has changed and therefore my approach to writing and creativity feels different. For one thing, it’s been dampened since their deaths. I used sewing and jewelry making as an outlet and distraction to get through each day while my dad had been slowly dying over the last two years. I haven’t made anything since September and need to “re-intention” my favorite hobbies. I don’t want to believe sadness propelled me forward artistically, but maybe it did.
One idea, though, has remained abundantly clear to me. I use fashion to tell a story, as so many do, and to delve a little deeper, as armor.
On the last day I saw my dad at his care home, I consciously dressed in the happiest outfit I could put together. These bright colors were a form of armor not typically associated with protective metal gear, but I knew the liveliness of my outfit would help keep my spirits up while I visited my dad and then my grandfather in his own care facility. Going in, I didn’t know it would be the last day I saw my dad, but he couldn’t even open his eyes and was in a state I’d never seen before. By the way he leaned in when I kissed his forehead, I believe he knew I was there.
As I left him a sobbing mess, I made my way to my grandfather. He was ecstatic to see me and he completely turned my day around with his huge smile and bright blue eyes. He immediately recognized my outfit as a source of joy and I know the cheerful colors had their effect on him, which looped back around to lift my mood in turn. Fashion as armor in practice.
Bops was, as I mentioned, a fighter pilot, serving in the Korean War and flying nine missions. To give you an idea of his level of badassery, he landed on an aircraft carrier with one engine on fire and his windshield shot out by the enemy.
In 2016, Bops gave me one of his flight suits and a Navy-issued vest that was to be worn during flight, complete with lots of pockets and adjustable straps. This literal piece of military “under-armor” has become one of my favorite items in my closet, keeping me close to my Bops while putting my own spin on his history.
In college, I lived by the mantra of “dress well, test well.” I was far from coming into my own personal style, but without fully understanding it, I’d begun to use clothing to portray confidence, whether or not I felt it in my bones. Today, I take the same approach: I’m lucky to work in a causal fashion environment, and while I could default to an oversized sweatshirt on my lowest of days, I often do the opposite. An outfit compliment from my creative coworkers certainly gives me a serotonin boost, but the feeling of emotionally protecting myself through my clothing is truly what I seek. Enter: fashion as armor.
Welcome back to The Creative Clam. I look forward to sharing my thoughts on fashion as an intersectional topic as well as what I’m eyeing, can’t stop thinking about, and discovering on and off the World Wide Web.
Your vulnerability is courageous and inspiring. And your fashion is amazing. I can only imagine Dad and Bops are looking down on you with love and encouragement to keep on living as your vibrant authentic self.
Amazing Haley! You never cease to amaze! My condolences on your losses Haley. I know how proud they were of you.