Help Me Nietzsche! My Outfits Suck

In the morning I walk to my closet, look through my stack of folded shirts, pull one out. Tacky. I grab a reliable button-up. I go to my pants and pull one from its hanger. Garbage. Why did I ever buy these? What outfits were I possibly thinking of making, and wearing in public, with clothes like these? I grab a familiar pair of jeans and put them on. The same process repeats for my shoes. I shut my closet and leave for class.

This morning routine happens often, and it makes me think about why I have the clothes I own. I start with the basics: Why do I wear clothes? Are they simply to cover my body? Are they to show off my niche interests, refined tastes, or social class? I then go to my bathroom and look in the mirror. Can I see myself wearing this same outfit five years ago? Can I see myself wearing it five years from now? If I had to wear this same outfit for the rest of my life, how would I feel about it? Would I be embarrassed if I wore it on campus? Would I be upset if I had to wear it to a family dinner, to a house party, to a coffee date?

In Friedrich Nietczhe’s Gay Science, it contains a theoretical story of a demon appearing to an individual; the demon tells this person that their life will be relived again and again, for all eternity—they can do nothing to alter their eternal repetition; the story is to see how the person would react to being told this. I can’t speak for everyone, but if a demon appeared to me and told me that I could only wear a pair of baggy jorts and an oversized Neon Genesis Evangelion tee, I’d be pretty annoyed; so what does this say about what I wear, or even, my buying habits?

If you have the right fit, I think it’s possible to wear it over and over again, eternally, without looking dumb. Shinji Ikari (1997) only wore one fit, so did Steve Jobs, and so does the Fantasy-Brandon Sanderson lover in my creative writing class. At some point, you don’t even consciously recognize what they’re wearing because you’re so familiar with their look. You don’t see the white button-up, the turtleneck, the Dunder Mifflin tee—it’s just Shinji, Steve, and Samuel.

In Thomas More’s Utopia (a grandfather to both the Fantasy and Sci-Fi genres), an explorer describes a perfect society to More. The people of Utopia value the arts over gold, their gardens over wars, joy over pleasure, and ultimately, utility over decoration. Everything these people do serves a purpose, including their clothing. At almost every occasion, the people only wear plain, durable leather that is repaired when needed—everyone dresses the same. That is because a fixation on clothing could cause many problems: idleness, lust, obsession, greed, envy, waste… so, Utopia’s society contains only a lasting, effective, and uniform wardrobe. This alleviation of both choice and rapid deterioration of clothing allows the people of Utopia to focus on the things they are involved with: their jobs, interests, families, faiths… gardens. In this fictional world, wearing the same clothing day after day, year after year, is very real, and the clothing acts as a vehicle for the people to do the things they’re participating in with both better ease and durability. The clothing merely dresses and assists them, not defines them

Yet, this uniform, utilitarian handling of clothing and fashion is not just a fictional concept; The Gap has pushed for this in their brand as well. Fashion YouTuber Bliss Foster, in referencing The Gap’s place in apparel history, said: 

“The Gap introduced this idea that you as an individual could wear sensible, understated, well-made, well-priced clothes that didn’t make you stand out from the crowd. They promoted this idea that you didn’t need to stand out from the crowd, that you’re already yourself, you’re already an individual.”

But, although these are purely utilitarian ways to treat clothing, these examples should still raise questions as to why clothing is used; to what purpose does clothing serve? A consumer doesn’t have to balance each of their purchases with eternal, existential weight, but it would be healthy to consider what’s influencing their purchasing habits; and the longevity of their wardrobe.

Do I need those black sambas, those yellow Onitsuka Tigers, that arc’teryx beanie, that camouflage baseball hat? Probably not. If I bought them, they’d just become more items to throw aside a few months from now when the trends have ebbed into something else. My closet only has so much space, and I only wear a few things from it anyway.