A few weeks ago I was dressing up my second hand shop’s window. I had decided to display two mannequins wearing subtle Marimekko print skirts with crisp white shirts and to throw in an amazing Marimekko men’s tie from the 1960s, some cool loafers, and woven handbags. The color palette I had picked was very neutral and calming, especially compared to the explosion of pink that I had chosen for the previous window display.
I jazzed up the mannequins but something seemed off. The outfits felt too serious. I grabbed a different white 1970s shirt, one that had a funny print of a bunch of bananas on the front pocket and the text ‘Grade A’ on it. The back of the shirt had an image of a cornucopia with ‘Ripe & Juicy’ printed on it. The shirt cracked me up. It was just what the window display needed. I had expected the Marimekko skirts to be the stars of the display, but the unexpected blast of humor, the banana shirt, became the one piece my customers kept asking about when they entered the shop.
I’ve spent some time thinking about the banana shirt ever since. It worked so well in the window display and people of all ages were drawn to it. I’ve thought about fun clothes, clothes that make one happy, and I’ve wondered why so many of us, including myself, are currently interested in serious clothing.
I’ve been wearing simple, almost sombre, menswear-inspired clothing for a while now. My style peacock has been dormant for some time and I find myself wearing mostly neutrals. I might bring out a pop of color at times, but the overall vibe of my style is currently rather serious. I’m not the only one: in my Instagram stories in the past I’ve talked about the Frankie Shop–ification of style: neutral, pared down, cool oversized suiting (with occasional bodycon details and a small handbag in a bright color) seems to be taking over the world sometimes. It’s like we’re chasing an ideal to look chill, collected and solemn, without really standing out or saying anything about ourselves in the process.
The overall mood in fashion has seemed serious to me for several seasons. The catwalks are dimly lit or borderline dark (Khaite, Burberry fall 2023). Models walk on mud (Balenciaga spring 2023), dark water (Givenchy fall 2021, Khaite fall 2020), industrial rooftops (Dries Van Noten men’s spring 2022), gray sand or gravel (Jil Sander spring 2023) and concrete (Prada). Clothes are dark, subdued and goth-inspired or hard, minimal and clean. The use of color seems almost underlined, like a desperate attempt to make a point, or to produce contrast with all the gloominess. I can’t quite remember the last time fashion felt like fun. I’m wondering if we might have fallen into a collective fashion depression after Alber Elbaz and Issey Miyake passed away.
Amy Smilovic, Tibi’s creative director, often talks about irony in relation to her personal style: she might add a weird, quirky shoe or a graphic t-shirt to her otherwise serious look, to lighten it up. Irony is her style modifier, the one thing that makes her chill, modern and classic style uniquely hers. It’s interesting to note that she has picked the word ‘irony’ rather than ‘humor’: one of irony’s definitions is wry humor that results from something that’s unexpected and deliberately in contrast to what one would expect. Humor, on the other hand, is the quality of being amusing, funny, or comic in its own right. To me, the distinction is important. Bringing irony rather than humor into an outfit has to be planned, intentional and calculative. It’s the safer bet out of the two, and I get that. To boldly wear something that makes you (and potentially other people) laugh takes guts. An inside joke for a chosen few or a quick smirk from a stranger is easier, more controlled.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself steering further away from blatantly fun clothes. I’ve wondered whether it’s a recognition of aging. Despite my not believing in the idea of age-appropriateness, I feel that I’m in a strange territory of not being quite young enough to pull off humorous clothes, but not old enough to just boldly own them either. I am not actively worried about looking ridiculous, or being laughed at, and I don’t think that I lack self confidence. I’m not ashamed of myself and I like to make fun of myself. I still choose serious clothes to wear.
The flipside of this serious, humorless mood in fashion and style is the idea of dopamine dressing: that wearing bright colors, bold prints and fun clothes might actually make us feel happier. Despite some colors, like yellow, having almost universal cultural associations with positivity, the science behind dopamine dressing doesn’t actually have much to do with bright colors at all. In a 2022 article in Harper’s Bazaar fashion psychologist Shakaila Forbes-Bell discusses the theory of ‘enclothed cognition’. We subjectively associate certain feelings with certain colors and pieces of clothing, and as a result, the clothes we wear can make us feel a certain way or even change the way we behave. In short, you embody the feelings that you associate with the clothes you wear.
It makes sense to me. Some years ago I had health problems and I felt awful almost constantly. After my health improved, I felt the need to let go of most of the clothes I had been wearing while I had been ill. My health was back to normal, but I associated most of my clothes with barely coping and feeling like crap. I’ve often heard of people donating their clothes after a bad breakup. The old clothes seem somehow tarnished by the unhappiness of the past. Clothes are powerful like that. If you associate a black streamlined blazer with confidence, you will feel more confident while wearing one. For someone else, a black blazer might signify conservative values and corporate greed. It always comes down to personal associations. It matters how we feel in our clothes, and how our clothes make us feel.
Maybe the seriousness of our clothes is the world’s fault. I had a conversation this week with some fellow Europeans, one Polish, the other German, about the times that we live in. We were children in the 1970s and the 1980s when we were all terrified of war, of total annihilation. We became first teenagers and then grown ups within a period of intoxicating hope and optimism. The Berlin wall came down, the European Union expanded. We thought that we were moving in the right direction, that we were invincible, but here we are again. Europe is at war. The populist right is gaining momentum again. There’s no humor in that. It’s only fitting that this is reflected in the way we dress right now.
Maybe our current serious clothes are armor. Maybe we’re all just trying to cope with the world we live in. I crave humor in my personal armor though, but not the wry type. I mean the laugh-out-loud kind. The silly banana shirt -type of funny. A bright yellow sheepskin collar, a humpty-dumpty brooch, a pair of polka dot tights. Maybe all of them, worn together.
I fell in love with Marimekko prints when my mum died in 2018; while clearing out her closet, I decided to keep a Uniqlo x Marimekko dress she used to love wearing about the house. It got me interested in the history of Marimekko. Sentimental reasons aside, I was also really drawn to them during the pandemic because the prints seemed like such a much-needed jolt of vibrancy and humour. But I've struggled to get good wear out of my few Marimekko pieces because I don't know how to wear Marimekko prints in a smart, ironic/humorous way... my styling always feel so "literal".
So I've channelled my liking for Marimekko into homeware instead - a couple of cushions here and there to jazz up my surroundings.
I think even though I consider myself a humorous person who knows when not take things too seriously, clothes are not how I express that aspect of my personality. I want to go about my day unnoticed, so I am still drawn to "quiet" clothes. But Marimekko has taught me how to see colour differently, so as winter approaches in Australia, I'm hoping to find a bright scarf (tomato red!) or which I think might reframe my wardrobe of navy and black in a new way.
You are right! You are reminding me of how much fashion humor has brought me joy in the past. Like those OG collaborations between Dali and Schiapparelli back in the day. :-) We need more of that in our lives.