MY FAVORITE WINTER COMPANION TURNED INTO MY ARCH NEMISIS.

The Curse of the Purple Sweatshirt

Everlane. Sophomore year of college. A color from my dreams. And a first meeting with the curse of the purple sweatshirt. It was perfect. It IS perfect. I guess I don’t consider it a firsthand curse- maybe a second, better yet, third hand curse. 

The truth: I love this sweatshirt. It’s comfy and perfectly oversized. The question I ask myself everyday, as I gaze into my recently reorganized closet, is why wouldn’t I wear this sweatshirt to class/work/errands? I can wear it with workout shorts and a t-shirt or jeans and still feel like myself. 

Huh. I think that’s a keyword of the curse: myself. The curse exists not because of my own relationship with my clothes, but the way others perceive me. Allow me to elaborate.

Because of my aforementioned obsession with this hoodie, when a few people started mentioning how often I wore it, it didn’t bother me very much. It didn’t bother me, until “a few” turned into “more than a few” and “more than a few”  turned into “everyone I’ve ever met.” But even then, my discomfort was not with the sweatshirt, but with the comments that other people were making. They were never made in a critical or negative way, but they linked my personal identity to my external presentation while I helplessly watched as my favorite winter companion turned into my arch nemesis. 

Thus marks the beginning of the curse. A creeping doubt that enters my mind every time I slip into the purple glory. What will people think? Will they laugh about how predictable I am? How did it get to this point? Will they think I don’t know how to do laundry? It would seem that while I was going about my day to day business, I instigated my own identity crisis. What did I do wrong?

Leandra Cohen (a writing genius) wrote an article about whether we dress for ourselves or for others. In this story, she says that she doesn’t like to wear her favorite pieces on instagram because it, “becomes parodies of themselves when they’re immortalized.” Leandra, have you been watching my life like The Truman Show and did you write this article just for me? My purple sweatshirt has become a parody of itself. Dang it. 

My supposed identity crisis was born from my clothes (well, one specific piece of clothing) creating its own persona and then squaring up toe to toe for a fist fight. The sweatshirt persona is about me, but it is not the actual me. Each individual who has seen me wear my beloved cotton hoodie attaches their understanding of who I am to the sweatshirt. The antagonistic dance occurring between me and my clothes is actually a fight between my true self, and the person that others believe me to be. 

So here’s my conclusion.

I need to get over myself. 

My identity does not come from the opinion of others, but my own confidence in who I am. A particular version of who I am exists in each individual person that knows me. My friends don’t need to have an all encompassing guide to my personality. Relationships are built on mutual care and respect and the desire to continue getting to know one another. Forgive me for mistaking human nature for judgement. 

Maybe the purple sweatshirt isn’t a curse, it’s a wake up call. When people comment on it, I can be honored that they remember and have noticed me rather than being embarrassed by my repetitive fashion choices. I will continue to wear my purple sweatshirt and choose to believe the best in people. Wish me luck.

Thanks for listening to me be unbelievably dramatic, but don’t worry: It’s just Not That Serious.

Bridget Walton 

PS. Enjoy a few terrible photos of me wearing *it which must not be named*