Who Made These Fashion Rules Anyway?
I don’t know exactly when it happened… but somewhere along the way, I realized I had been living by a rulebook I never actually agreed to.
You know the one.
The one that somehow carried more weight than anything I ever read flipping through Seventeen magazine, because at least that felt fun, not like a list of rules I could fail. I’m pretty sure if there had been a quiz in the back, I would’ve scored somewhere between “fashion confused” and “needs supervision.”
The invisible list of fashion “dos and don’ts” we were handed growing up, like it was part of becoming a proper adult woman.
No white before Memorial Day.
No white after Labor Day.
Always wear a slip.
Pantyhose are not optional.
Your bra strap should NEVER show.
God forbid your actual bra shows.
And for the love of everything, dress your age.
And here’s the thing, none of these rules were ever mentioned in Seventeen, YM, or Teen Magazine. Not once. And if Seventeen didn’t say it… was it even real?
Looking back now, it’s almost funny… except it’s not, because we actually believed it.
I did, anyway.
I remember standing in front of the mirror before church, smoothing down my dress, making sure my slip wasn’t bunching, adjusting my pantyhose (which were always slightly uncomfortable no matter what), checking that nothing… nothing… was out of place.
Because being “put together” wasn’t just about looking nice.
It meant you were doing things right.
It meant you were respectable.
It meant you weren’t drawing the wrong kind of attention.
And wow… that’s a lot to put on an outfit.
The First Rule I Broke
I wish I could tell you I had some bold, cinematic moment where I threw all the rules out at once.
I didn’t.
It was smaller than that.
I stopped wearing pantyhose.
That’s it. That was my rebellion.
And I remember feeling weird about it. Like I was getting away with something. Like someone, an invisible committee of well-dressed women from the past, was going to tap me on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me… you forgot something.”
But no one did.
And more importantly… nothing bad happened.
I was just more comfortable.
And that tiny shift? It cracked something open.
Then Came the Questions
Once you break one rule, you start looking at the others a little differently.
Like…
Why can’t I wear white in the winter?
Who decided that?
And why does a visible bra strap feel like a scandal when it’s literally just clothing doing its job?
And the big one:
Do I even like dressing this way… or have I just been following directions?
That question hit me harder than I expected.
Because the truth is, I had spent years, decades even, dressing in a way that felt “right”… but not necessarily like me.
Where Those Rules Got Reinforced
And if I’m being honest… those rules didn’t just come from magazines or older generations. They got reinforced in real life, too.
Case in point: college.
I went to a technical college that was predominantly male. My major? Architecture. Also predominantly male.
So there I was – 19 years old, already sticking out like a sore thumb just by walking into the room.
And on top of that? We had a dress code that didn’t play around.
We’re talking:
- Pantyhose required. Every. Single. Day.
- Dress shoes only
- Skirt and dress lengths monitored (yes, monitored)
- Absolutely no shorts
- Nothing showing – no straps, no lines, no “questionable choices”
And the guys? They weren’t getting off easy either.
They had to be clean shaven… like, checked clean shaven. I literally saw students handed disposable razors and sent to the restroom to fix their faces before they were allowed back in class.
Hair couldn’t be longer than their collar.
Dress shirts, ties, belts, dress shoes… every day.
And just to make it extra official, this wasn’t your typical college schedule.
We were there 8 – 3, Monday through Friday.
Basically, we were all playing “professional adult” before most of us even knew how to properly do laundry.
Now, I get it. The school prided itself on work ethic and preparing us for the real world.
But looking back?
It feels like the rules were turned all the way up to maximum.
And for someone like me, already feeling visible just for being one of the few women in the room, it added this extra layer of pressure to get everything exactly right.
No room for personality.
No room for experimenting.
However, no shortage of Aqua Net.
And Speaking of That…
Let’s talk about my grandmother for a second.
Because if there was a dress code before the dress code, it was hers.
Church mornings were… an experience.
I’d come out thinking I looked pretty good… cute outfit, maybe a little personality thrown in, and she’d take one look at me and say, “You’re not wearing that.”
And just like that? Back to my room I went.
To change.
Because apparently, my version of “appropriate” and hers were not even in the same universe.
And if you remember the 80s, you already know where this is going…
Electric blue mascara.
Purple.
Teal.
I mean… we were expressing ourselves, okay?
Very “Seventeen magazine told me to express myself,” and absolutely not “grandmother approved.”
She was not impressed.
Not even a little.
Let’s just say those bold little lashes did not make it to church.
Letting Go of “Proper”
So between generational expectations, school rules, and good old-fashioned “what will people think,” it’s no wonder those fashion rules got so deeply ingrained.
But somewhere in midlife (and honestly, it snuck up on me), I stopped wanting to be “proper” and started wanting to be comfortable.
Not just physically, though yes, I will choose comfort every single time now, but emotionally too.
I wanted to feel like myself in my clothes.
Not like I was playing a role.
So I started making little changes:
I wore white when I felt like it.
I skipped the slip.
I chose clothes because I liked them, not because they were “flattering” by someone else’s standards.
And yes… I stopped panicking if a bra strap made a guest appearance.
And you know what I realized?
No one was keeping score.
Except maybe the ghost of Seventeen magazine… and honestly, she was on my side.
The Freedom I Didn’t Expect
I thought breaking these rules would feel rebellious.
And it does, a little.
But more than that… it feels freeing.
Like setting down something heavy I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
Because it turns out, those rules were never really about fashion.
They were about fitting in.
Not standing out.
Doing things “the right way.”
And at this point in my life?
I’m a lot more interested in doing things my way.
So… Who Made These Rules Anyway?
Honestly, I don’t know.
But I do know this:
They don’t get to decide for me anymore.
And maybe that’s what this stage of life is really about.
Not having everything figured out.
Not suddenly becoming fearless.
But quietly, steadily, choosing yourself.
Even in something as simple as what you wear.
If you need me, I’ll be over here… wearing white whenever I feel like it.
And definitely not wearing pantyhose.
