Who Do You Dress For? The Tension Between the Mirror and the World

Anytime a friend looks at an outfit or piece of clothings and says, “oh that’s so you,” I wonder if it is and what it means for it be so me. As I, presumably like many others, am convinced that I don’t have a distinct style. And have further wondered what it really means to have one. Fashion, at its most distilled, is a game of perception—of how you see yourself versus how the world sees you. This duality is perhaps best captured by two ideas: dressing for yourself and dressing as yourself. Both seem deceptively straightforward, yet they are arenas of profound self-reflection, experimentation, and, at times, outright contradiction.

Dressing For Yourself: The Intimate Experience

The concept of dressing for oneself embodies liberation. It is about prioritising personal happiness in attire. Imagine those leisurely Sunday mornings when slipping into a pair of well-worn Levi’s feels like a comforting embrace. Or the red lipstick you apply to feel an instant surge of empowerment, or the silk dress you wear to dinner with no intention of drawing attention.

Rihanna effortlessly transitions from a full goth ensemble to an athleisure look the following day. It is not about conformity; it is about exploration. Phoebe Philo’s tenure at Céline epitomised this: her designs exuded a quiet strength that required no external validation. Consider oversized coats and slouchy trousers—pieces that subtly declared, “I am enough.” Yet, there is a twist: even when dressing for oneself, the external gaze is never entirely absent. There is the delight of donning a stunning outfit and catching your reflection in a store window. The self-awareness of looking good, even if only for oneself, is linked to how one might be perceived.

The challenge lies in resisting the pressure for approval while acknowledging that fashion, at its core, is a form of communication.

Dressing As Yourself: A Public Statement

Dressing as oneself is a distinct endeavour. It transforms clothing into a projection of identity—a statement, whether intentional or not. It reflects who you are or aspire to be. Dressing as oneself is seldom private; it is your personal manifesto, accessible to anyone who casts a glance.

Consider Harry Styles’ Gucci escapades during Alessandro Michele’s era. He was not merely selecting clothes; he was crafting a persona that blurred gender lines and challenged traditional menswear. Or Iris Apfel, whose vibrant wardrobe proclaimed her passion for colour and texture and her defiance of age or trends. Dressing as oneself demands confidence and, crucially, self-awareness.

Dressing as oneself requires clarity. It is not about wearing the same outfit daily or adhering to minimalism or maximalism; it is about coherence and consistency. It is about shedding what feels superfluous and focusing on what feels essential. To dress as oneself is to curate a wardrobe that feels inevitable: pieces that belong together because they belong to you.

Ultimately, dressing up is also about balancing authenticity with evolving tastes and circumstances. The person you are today may not resonate with the vintage leather jacket you adored five years ago. There is also the apprehension of being misunderstood. Do your clothes reflect who you are, or merely who you are attempting to be?

The Elegance Of Balance

Naturally, the boundary between these two concepts is fluid. There is an argument that dressing as oneself is merely an elevated form of dressing for oneself—a way to align one’s inner and outer worlds. After all, how can one truly dress as oneself without understanding who they are and what they prefer? It occurs when one’s external expression mirrors their internal desires.

Ananya Panday’s ascent from Bollywood’s Gen-Z darling to Chanel’s first Brand Ambassador for India is less a sudden coup than the result of a meticulously plotted sartorial evolution. With an eye for polished playfulness and a wardrobe that deftly toes the line between Parisian chic and youthful irreverence, Pandey has steadily projected herself as a fashion force to be reckoned with. Each airport look, each red carpet moment, felt increasingly like a love letter to Chanel’s codes—pearls, tweeds, monochrome—until the brand itself could no longer resist the flirtation. Over the past few months, Chanel has been subtly stoking the speculation fire: front-row sightings, cryptic Instagram tags, and whispers from stylists in the know. Now, with the official announcement, what once felt like an editorial fantasy has been cinched in reality. Ananya isn’t just wearing Chanel—she is Chanel, reimagined for a new generation.

Steve Jobs’ uniform of black turtlenecks and jeans seemed like a pragmatic approach to fashion—a decision to eliminate choice from his daily routine. But wasn’t that also a choice for himself? By opting out of trends, Jobs was not only dressing as himself but also for himself, cutting through the noise of fashion to concentrate on what mattered most to him.

Similarly, the late André Leon Talley, renowned for his extravagant capes and sweeping caftans, was not merely dressing to project an image. He wore those garments because they made him feel powerful, even regal. For Talley, dressing as himself was not performative—it was self-care, a means of affirming his place in the world. Writer Joan Didion, known for her minimalist, precise wardrobe, may have preferred the simplicity of her plain T-shirts, flared pants, and sunglasses, but those choices also contributed to her image of intellect and detachment.

Dressing as oneself can sometimes feel like an obligation—to maintain an image, meet expectations, and remain consistent with the version of oneself others recognise. The true challenge is to ensure that it does not become a performance that conflicts with personal joy. Because even if Rihanna has a fluid style, you can still look at an outfit on the Paris Fashion Week runway or in Bandra’s Hill Road and say, “damn, that’s so RiRi!”

The elegance of this tension is that it keeps fashion dynamic. Perhaps it is that push and pull—the thrill of reinvention clashing with the desire for authenticity—that makes fashion such a captivating, yet perplexing art form.

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