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An Existential Crisis Wrapped in a Wardrobe Problem


Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

Clothes make the human.


How do you dress a body {that has birthed two humans}{that carried you through an ongoing global pandemic and more stress}{that doesn’t look/measure/feel the way you think it should feel} when you don’t have a clear picture of who you want to be?


Before Instagram influencers, before Stacy and Clinton on “What Not To Wear” (and the many different iterations), and sometime after a Vogue subscription, there was the J Peterman catalog and its numerous historical and fictitious women carrying on around the world. I’ve been toying around with the idea of writing a long-form series about “Who is a J Peterman Woman.” If clothes or fashion is an expression of who you aspire to be, then “an unconventional woman of very good taste”--to quote but one of their many copy lines--has long been my guiding star.  


The one thing she’s not, though, is a mother to children-at-home. They may be grown-and-gone, but they are mentioned twice throughout the years of back catalogs I combed for research. However, the one thing I certainly am currently is a mother with children-at-home. Even if I set aside the question of what job do I want, the question still remains of how do I dress for the job I have? 


There are as many versions of clothing motherhood as there are mothers. Current (2020s) trends include:

-Sporty Mom in constant athleisure (may or may not actually exercise)

-Slouchy Mom in sweatshirt and joggers (ever present mass market coffee accessory)

-Junior League Mom in booties and pearls (hair and makeup understated yet perfect)

-Earthmother Mom in flowy pants and yoga top (mala bracelets stacked, perhaps barefoot)


Add more here. 


You could seek inspiration from other well-known moms:

-Michelle Obama (first, personal trainer. contemporary and colorful.)

-Martha Stewart (khakis, button-up, shoes appropriate for garden or craftroom)

-Ree Drummond (jeans, flowy top, work or fancy cowboy boots)

-Kate Middleton (bespoke. Probably no longer aspirational in the 21st century as royalty used to be for our grands/great-grands generations.)


Or go further back in history or fiction:

-Lilly Pulitzer (South Beach colorful caftans)

-Coretta Scott King (classic 50’s/60’s day dress and pearls)

-Morticia Adams (goth. And posture.)


Television has likely given us the most consistent representation of motherhood, even if it hasn’t been truly inclusive of the wide variety of motherhood looks in America. Which makes sense as tv is there to sell a way of being, of moving through our lives. But I digress … 


This is why I often refer to clothing as costume: much like in theater/film/television, we play different roles for different audiences on a weekly basis and must dress accordingly. This adds complexity to building a wardrobe. Where in one role I may desire to be Martha, in another I’d rather be more Michelle. While it suited them to maintain a core “brand” costume from which they could deviate slightly for dressier or more casual occasions, that may not work for us mere mortal moms. 


And while I am intrigued by a capsule wardrobe or a minimal closet, I do not wish to wear the same outfit for every occasion (a la insert male icon name here).


I will also leave aside the very real but very lengthy discussion of body image and weight as a construct of the capitalist beauty industry in order to take my money. Suffice it to say I cannot leave my house naked and run errands, procure groceries, take my kid to school, etc. So therefore clothing of some sort is required. And I do not wish to simply live in yoga pants and one of my husband’s old t-shirts. I tried that. I felt awful. 


I suppose I’m ruminating on the clothing issue because I’m not entirely certain who I want to be, coming out of stay-at-home orders and having a surprise baby after a decade of establishing an identity. It wasn’t full-blown J Peterman Woman, but it felt like it--that is I--was headed in the direction of “incorrigible bandit with sartorial swagger” (another of my favorite catalog quotes). It built on my quite preppy younger self and included some trends, some luxe, some sexy, some sporty (strictly for sports, as per Stacy & Clinton). Figuring out the next iteration feels like an insurmountable task. Should I get my colors done? Rent the runway? Succumb to jeans/tshirt/Converse--my current outfit dujour--for the rest of my days? 


Bigger, though, is the fundamental question: besides a mother and a spouse, who am I now? Artist? Writer? Producer? Journalist? Editor? Community Builder? Project manager? Event planner? Managing Director? Nonprofit Volunteer? CEO of Home? All hats I’ve worn in the past. Do any of them still fit? The clothing conundrum is but the outerwear of the existential crisis wardrobe. 

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