I dressed for you

A lesson from my mother about the joy in dressing for others

When I was a child, I once asked my mother why she was getting all dressed up to go to the annual parent-teacher meeting at my school. “It’s manners,” she replied, without further comment, as she pulled on her pantyhose.

Of course, I didn’t appreciate at the time—manners sounded stuffy, oppressive, pretentious even. And it can be. But adult me can see the thoughtfulness in my mother’s intentions. To her, teachers were respected professionals and she wanted to convey the respect with a sedate, elegant outfit—wide-leg trousers, a short-sleeved blouse with a mandarin collar, low-heeled pumps.

My stylish mother was a homemaker—in her day-to-day life, she dressed well, but with an eye on practicality; she cooked, she cleaned, she took care of us and she needed to be dressed for an unglamorous job. Maybe she wanted to dress up in a silk blouse and pumps because she didn’t get to do it every day. But there was no doubt she recognised the context of the occasion and she would have felt rude if she hadn’t made the effort.

We often think of personal style as self-actualisation, creative expression, and a bit of self-defence—we are using the power of clothing to set boundaries and say something about ourselves. But there’s also beauty in using clothes to extend ourselves, to tell someone: “I care about the occasion. I care about you.”

The first time I thought about this was back in May, while listening to an episode of menswear podcast “Blamo”, in which host Jeremy Kirkland interviewed consultant and United Arrows co-founder Hirofumi Kurino.

During the interview, Kirkland asked Kurino how he got dressed every day, and Kurino responded that much like how he chooses the tracks he wants to play when he DJs, he chooses his clothes with a story in mind and asks himself, “Who am I today?”

Sounded straightforward enough, but then Kurino went on to share that because he was meeting Kirkland for the first time, and because Kirkland is American and a friend of W David Marx, he wore seersucker. At this point, you can hear the delight in Kirkland’s voice when he replied, “Beautiful”.

It was indeed, a beautiful moment. Seersucker is a quintessentially American fabric and a big part of the American prep vernacular. Kurino knew that Kirkland was a menswear enthusiast and would know and appreciate this, and thus picked his outfit with that in mind, to form what he called a “good bond”.

In doing so, Kurino demonstrated that clothing is communication, not only to say who we are, but to tell others that we acknowledge them, and we are interested in who they are. We live in a time of constant signalling and performing taste, pressuring ourselves to present the most optimised narratives of ourselves to the world; isn’t it refreshing to set aside the self for a moment?

To openly delight in dressing for others is also an act of supreme confidence, not to mention skill. It’s a sign that you are in a good space about how you feel about yourself, and you are able to freely adapt your style to engage with the interests of your chosen company. We should always fight the societal pressures that force us to dress to hide or conform, but we should also own the freedom to thoughtfully engage from a place of sincerity and openness.

I thought of my mother, who died six years ago today. She is gone, but I am still learning from her that there is happiness in showing up for others. Today, I dressed for her.

This Uniqlo x Marimekko shift from 2018 belonged to my mum. She loved Marimekko prints and she especially loved the shape of this dress because it was perfect for the Singapore weather. I never wear it, except when I miss her.