Change has an interesting way of manifesting in our appearances. A big promotion calls for a new suit, a new school year demands a new look, and a new romantic partner begs new briefs and panties (please tell me I’m not alone in this one?). The possibilities for displaying these shifts through personal aesthetics are endless, but the most obvious and attainable indicator of transition—be it physical or mental—has to be the haircut. In late November, I was ready for said change. With a new job and apartment on the horizon, and months full of trial and error, heartbreak, and harrowing anxiety behind me, I marched into the WORN office, scissors in hand.
I had decided 24 hours before to cut off my hair. And while I wasn’t planning on going Jean Seberg-short like many brave Wornettes before me, the impending change was drastic enough for me. Fund restrictions and a lack of patience led me to a Google chat with my editor here at WORN, and we scheduled my cut for 8 p.m. that same evening; like my dreary memories of the past, I wanted it gone, and I wanted it gone fast.
Looking back, this haircut wasn’t really about vanity. If I wanted a perfectly sculpted coif, I surely could have waited the extra week and booked an appointment at a salon—though I must admit that my confidence in Serah-Marie’s cutting capabilities doubled when I walked in the office and Edward Scissorhands was playing on the projector. For me, the cut was more about marking a transition. And, as corny as it sounds, holding six inches of loose hair in my hands somehow re-affirmed that I had the ability to not only accept change as it came, but to create it for myself; no week-long wait to book, and no hesitations.
What inspired this outfit?
I really wanted to wear this felt hat that my best friend Lindsay (you may know her from this) gave me. I had also been wearing this crop top that I got from my friend June for about a week straight. A mathematical equation of the outfit might read: hat + crop top x layers to prevent frozen limbs = lazy monday outfit I ended up really liking.
Tell me about one of the items you’re wearing.
You can’t see it in the photos, but I’m wearing one of my favourite new watches. I bought them in an antique mall in Queensville recently for $6, and they came with a tiny orange Timex case too!
What’s the best book to read in this outfit? Katie Wornette said (in a loving way, I’m sure) that I looked like a French Hipster in this look, so maybe something by a French author. A Woman’s Story and Simple Passion by Annie Ernaux are beautiful, short reads that I feel might lend themselves to this look.
What style icon would wear this outfit?
Seeing as my day began by chasing my hat across Dundas street—after it narrowly escaped being crushed by a truck, but before the entire Junction 40 bus chuckled under their breath—I would have to say Madeline. Her rendition of this song seems particularly suited to my look. My roommate and fellow Wornette, Max, did say that the look came off as inspired by Six from Blossom though, which I can totally see.
When handed this book, I felt like I was intruding—the hand crafted spine creaked with hours of the author’s labor, and the muted green fabric frayed at the corners. I felt as though I had been handed a diary, and as it turns out, I sort of had been. Waisted Curves: My Transformation Into A Victorian Lady chronicles Sarah Chrisman’s journey from corset loather to Victorian garment educator and advocate in 250 hand-bound pages. We see Chrisman’s disdain for corsets melt away as she laces herself into the garment daily, and witness her transformation of thought and body, all brought about by an article of clothing.
Chrisman begins the narrative on her birthday, when her husband Gabriel gives her a corset as a gift. This spurs an extensive personal change, both physically and mentally. The narrow conception of corsets with which she begins the memoir quickly changes as she learns more about the history and practices of corsetry. Eventually, she dismisses the idea of the corset as oppressive as she records her changes in self-perception and self-esteem.
Gluing things to other things has always been a favourite pastime of mine. Add champagne, my best friend and nighties and you’ve got a recipe for the best slumber party since The Baby-Sitters Club: Dawn and the Big Sleepover. We picked up some cheap barrettes from the dollar store, scoured our apartments for trinkets and thingamajigs (think old necklaces, pillowcases, shoelaces, or old perfume bottles) and plugged in a hot glue gun. The result: some pretty fantastic barrettes that I will probably never wear, but had too much fun making.