Rewrite Your Story

I’m still working on prepping my cold-weather clothes, and honestly, it hasn’t been much fun. It’s discouraging to look at what I’ll be wearing this winter and feel so negative about it. A lifetime of stories has fed into how my wardrobe got to this place:

“Buy your needs, not your wants”

“We go to the mall to look, not to buy”

Somewhere along the way, “You can’t have whatever you want” started to sound more like “You can’t have anything you want.”

As we touched on last week, our style story isn’t fixed. With awareness and intention, we have the chance to edit the script—to let go of what no longer serves us and begin writing a version that’s more in line with who we’re becoming.

Earlier this week, I came across a quote from psychologist Dan McAdams: “Narrative identity is a special kind of story—a story about how I came to be the person I am becoming.” McAdams’ work shows that identity is shaped as a story we tell ourselves—one that integrates past, present, and future, giving our lives a sense of unity, purpose, and meaning. We make sense of who we are by shaping our personal history into a narrative.

The same is true of style. What we tell ourselves about clothes, shopping, and how we look becomes part of our story. Last week, I shared Kristen Cain’s idea of “Style Stories”, which dovetails beautifully with McAdams’ model. Both remind us that awareness is the starting point for change.

As we’ve learned, growth and change doesn’t usually occur as a dramatic, earth-shattering event. More often, it’s a series of small, intentional steps in the direction we want to go. So, as I’ve been working in my closet this week, I’ve been journaling and reflecting on the stories that bubble up.

Oh boy!

It’s important to remember that when we rewrite our story, that we aren’t rewriting history. The particular events that we have experienced in the past are unalterable data points. For good or for bad, whatever is back there, is always going to be back there. Believe me, there are more than a few things I wish I could alter, but I’ve seen what happens when we deny or change the facts to make them into something we can cope with.

What rewriting the story does mean is that we can purposely start to change the narrative about what those events meant for us, and our style. I’ll illustrate what this can look like.

Unpacking the Past

Back in elementary school (a very distant past, haha!), my mom was in the hospital for a few weeks. I missed her, and in an effort to feel close to her, I wore a couple of bright, beaded necklaces she had made for me. A classmate came up and said, “You look like a gypsy!” It wasn’t meant as a compliment—even though dressing like a gypsy had always been one of my favorite Halloween costumes. The message was clear: I looked ridiculous. The next day, I didn’t wear the necklaces.

I still wish I had been brave enough to put them on again. I remember looking down at my school uniform and feeling how bare and blah it looked without them. At some point that day, the same classmate came over, gave me a quick once-over, and walked away without saying a word. She didn’t stay to play with me, but she didn’t criticize me either. Her silence was easier to bear, but it still came at a cost.

Hearing the Old Lines

"Wearing something different can be dangerous"

"You can’t trust the connection you may have with something you are wearing"

"Wearing what you enjoy can get you into trouble"

Those early interactions weren’t a turning point in themselves but the memory of the feelings they produced cemented over time.

Questioning the Script

It makes me laugh sometimes to think that something as small as wearing a bunch of beads nearly 50 years ago can still echo so loudly in my memory. Our minds form powerful connections between experiences, thoughts, and feelings. I can still feel the sting of that moment in the classroom, but now, with time and perspective, I see it differently.

Wearing something eye-catching comes with a risk: you might be admired, but you also might attract an unsolicited—and unwelcome—comment.

Just this week, I realized I haven’t been wearing some of the beautiful jewelry I inherited from my dear Aunt Nellie. Oh my, everyone needs an Aunt Nellie. She was humble, kind, generous, tough—and unapologetically glamorous. She loved her bling. Her jewelry? Definitely not shy. When I wear her pieces, they get noticed. I’ve even gotten comments from strangers, because they do not fade into the background!

If I’m honest, that attention makes me uncomfortable. Not because I dislike the jewelry, and certainly not because I don’t cherish the connection to her when I wear them. It’s the attention itself that unsettles me. It takes me back to those early days of not feeling safe in being seen—and not quite understanding why..

Making a Rewrite

Small steps, right? This week I wore Aunt Nellie’s ring twice, and I’m planning to wear one of her bracelets over the weekend. But the bigger challenge is rewriting the story I’ve carried for so long.

Instead of "Wearing something different can be dangerous", I want to shift it to "Wearing something different may get you noticed. Period." If someone makes a comment or reacts in some way, what should I think? That part is still a work in progress. For now, I’m practicing my new lines: "Wearing what you enjoy is a blessing."

It will take time.

Thank God for humble, kind, generous, tough, and unapologetically glamorous aunts, who leave us small reminders that it’s not only okay to have a connection with what you wear—it’s also okay to enjoy it, even if it gets you noticed.