(Quinn Nachtrieb • The Student Life)
As my final semester in college comes to a close, I’ve been reflecting on how my style has evolved since I arrived in Claremont. I’ve actually been thinking a lot about style in general and, honestly, I feel like I understand the meaning of “style” less than I did as a first-year.
A lot of people at the 5Cs have made me realize that my definition of style is completely different from that of others. I think maturity in fashion is realizing that different opinions can coexist peacefully and not feeling the need to criticize when a look doesn’t align with your preferences. I struggle with that sometimes.
I only really started becoming critical of what others wore when I escaped the “sneakerhead” phase of my fashion journey. Around my senior year of high school I began to realize that the shoes were not, in fact, the centerpiece of every outfit (especially if those shoes were designed to be worn on a basketball court). Before I even got interested in fashion, though, I was still buying clothing I thought was cool. They were met with mixed reactions — I was even teased once for wearing a pink jacket.
Claremont presented an environment that contained a lot less judgment. I’ll rephrase that, actually: Claremont presented an environment that contained the same amount of judgment, but a lot less judgment about what anyone wore. I remember buying a pair of loafers my first year. I was terrified to wear them until I showed them to my friends and they encouraged me to take risks and fully express myself. This definitely resulted in some questionable outfits that year, but that’s part of the experimentation process.
Our style preferences can change based on the people we meet and the new tastes that we’re introduced to. Sophomore year, I was thrown into a friend group that had never met in person due to the pandemic. I felt like my style back then reflected the character I was playing as I tried to assimilate into this new friend group; I was caught up in brand names, even though some of the brands I was buying weren’t really authentic to me. As my friend group changed over that year, I grew more confident in my role in my social circle and how my style fit into my personal expression.
Your day-to-day environment can play a big role in how you dress as well. That summer, I got my first internship at an office with a business-casual dress code and immediately turned to The Real Real to find cheap, sharp clothes. Now, I look at the three pairs of dress trousers sitting in my closet that haven’t gotten a wear for at least a year and laugh, remembering how excited I had been to own them. It’s funny — each time I glance at my closet I’m reminded of how different pieces of clothing I’ve worn over the years have fit into my personal evolution. Just like songs, pieces of clothing can hold intangible memories that don’t fade quickly.
During my junior year, I turned towards old, niche designer brands and vintage clothing. I was really focused on building a solid baseline for myself; I wanted one of every kind of jacket, pant, shirt, whatever would allow me as much variety as possible. I was also trying to prepare for going to Paris the next semester, which resulted in me buying jackets that were probably not appropriate for Claremont weather. I wore them until my body got so used to them that they actually became appropriate for Claremont weather — but weren’t nearly enough for Paris weather once I actually arrived there.
In any case, Paris allowed my style to flourish because I never felt like I was overdressed. I could wear a full Canadian tuxedo, overcoat and cowboy boots on the Metro and no one would care whether I was on my way to a fashion show or my French language class. (I will, unfortunately, admit that it was always the latter.)
“Claremont presented an environment that contained a lot less judgment. I’ll rephrase that, actually: Claremont presented an environment that contained the same amount of judgment, but a lot less judgment about what anyone wore.”
Often, I think about those fashion iceberg memes on Instagram that have a big name brand like Supreme at the tip of the iceberg and eventually work their way down to super niche, artisanal brands like Carol Christian Poell, Deepti, m.a+, etc. The more I’ve learned about fashion, the more I’ve come to disagree with these portrayals. Fashion evolution is not a linear progression at all.
A few months ago, I bought a pair of A Diciannoveventitre boots (they’re also known as A1923, but it sounds way more pretentious when you spell it out) and a shirt from the ’80s with the words “Party Hut” printed on the front. My fashion evolution theory goes from sneakerhead to minimalism to vintage and high fashion to essentially just buying whatever I like. As humans, after we get bored enough of semi-commitment to an aesthetic, we either have to go all in or just let it go in favor of diversity.
Right now, I would align myself more with diversity in clothing taste; I mostly just buy individual pieces that I like and then hope that they work well together. Sometimes, that guess will be more educated than not, but I like the variety it gives me. I feel like being tied down to a certain aesthetic is limiting; there’s no way that some of those people on Instagram really feel like wearing head-to-toe Balenciaga for all of their pictures, but I digress.
As I’ve gotten to know my style better, I’ve also realized the faults in my process. I’m still tied to certain brand names, even though the brands I’m attached to now tend to be of higher quality and richer history. Sometimes I’ll find myself searching auctions for a certain brand, hoping to find a cheap piece that I know was made well, instead of discarding my biases. It goes the other way, too; I can sometimes be elitist in criticizing the fast-fashion and Instagram brands I see other people make, even though I can only assume the quality of the clothing itself. As I continue to develop my style, I have to make sure that I develop an impartial perspective on all the clothing I could add to my wardrobe as well.
My sophomore year, I had two pieces of clothing that always earned compliments because of the designs embroidered and printed on them. As of now, I’ve sold one of them and don’t wear the other often. I feel like I’ve turned away from stuff like that — stuff that I know is aesthetically appealing, almost like it’s too easy to wear — because it doesn’t take any controversial risks. There’s definitely some kind of facade of rebellion behind this, but I’ve realized that the compliments I get now are more authentic to my style, which makes them better to receive.
Recently, I’ve been really interested in the texture and weight of clothing, specifically pants. I bought a pair of pants a few weeks ago in large part because of their sheen; they’re made of acetate, which creates a unique texture. My friend complimented the pants because of this effect and it made my day because she recognized why I had thought they were cool enough to add to my wardrobe.
Anyway, now I’m rambling. My general point is that it can be easy to dress in a way that’s aesthetically pleasing — but if it’s not true to you, what’s the point of receiving the compliments? Anyone can throw on a pair of Timbs, baggy pants and a zip-up hoodie and say they have style, but is that “style” for you or someone else? I’m not saying that dressing trendily can’t also be authentic (I write this wearing a pair of wider jeans purchased when they became super popular), but rather that it’s more rewarding to look good wearing an outfit you put together yourself.
I usually end my articles with something about dressing true to yourself, so, now you can hopefully see how I got here. Clearly, that self is ever-evolving and your personal style, like mine, should be too.
Gus Gingrich PO ’24 is from Walnut Creek, California. In his free time, he enjoys stressing over being outbid on Japanese auction websites and mocking up re-designs for his dorm room closet.
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