Purging my closet and filling it with colour completely changed my life

Despite being a graphic designer with a strong visual sense, I had never considered myself particularly fashionable. Up until that point, my style could have been likened to that of Portia from “The White Lotus.” My closet was stuffed with a collection of incohesive pieces, half of which I hardly wore, a handful that I wore too much, and not even one that I could say I truly loved.

At a time when so many things were uncertain, one thing was for sure: I was tired of just getting by, or worse, masquerading as something I wasn’t. So I decided that until I knew who I was, I wouldn’t be anything. I had to wear something, so black basics seemed like the best option. When I was done, only a few, exclusively black garments were left hanging in my closet. Funeral attire, if you will, for a person who no longer existed.

Regardless of how solemn or melodramatic it may have seemed, wearing my black uniform brought me comfort in a time when I felt so uncomfortable in almost every other way. I was perfectly content with it for about six months, but one fateful day most of my remaining clothes were ruined, stained by bleach in the washing machine.

I took it as a sign that maybe it was time to be somebody again, but who? I still wasn’t any closer to knowing who that was. When I brought this existential dilemma to my therapist, she offered a simple suggestion that would change my life: “Start with what you like.”

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• Dec 31, 1969

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• Dec 31, 1969

What did I like? On my next trip to Value Village, I decided to conduct an experiment and take notice of what truly spoke to me — not what I thought would look good, but what really sparked an emotional response in me. The answer, surprisingly, came in the form of a bright pink blazer that would set me on a life-changing journey of self-expression and discovery.

Now that I was officially out of my all-black era, there was no going back. As a scholar of “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” I developed a keen interest in the relationship between identity and fashion. I became fascinated with analyzing the costumes of shows like “Euphoria” and “Game of Thrones”; the intention behind what the characters wore and what it communicated about them. I started to understand fashion in a new light, not only as a way to express ourselves, but to shape how we show up in the world. Instead of asking myself “Who am I?” I started to ask myself a new, less daunting question: “What is my costume?”

As a way in, I started with colour, focusing on which specific shades spoke to me on an emotional level. Hot pink, fuchsia and magenta had always been my favourites, despite having denied myself them for most of my adult life for the sake of being punk rock. Inspired by citrine and amethyst, the next colours to join my closet were nectarine orange and royal purple, which combined with the pinks created a sunset effect that became the foundation of my palette. Soon, it expanded to analogous shades like lavender and burnt orange, as well as new hues like chartreuse, evergreen and chocolate.

As I carefully added and removed hues, I noticed that these colourful pieces not only felt good to wear but were helpful in the process of expanding my wardrobe. Having my own personal guidelines provided parameters to work within when picking new garments, and the consistency made it easier to mix and match pieces.

Thrifting was perfect for experimenting in a low-stakes way, allowing me to flesh out my wardrobe without breaking the bank, and I simply re-donated pieces if they didn’t quite resonate. Soon, I had a small but mighty assortment of vibrant garments that not only spoke to me individually, but together formed a cohesive collection.

As my wardrobe grew, I realized I didn’t have to stop at colour: there were countless design features to be delighted by. I discovered that I loved the sensual feel of suede and satin; the subtle texture of rib knits and corduroy. I became obsessed with the dramatic silhouette of flared pants and platform shoes, and the dignified elegance of draped gowns and puffed-sleeve blouses.

During this process, I was surprised to find that some of my favourite pieces were ones that I would never have considered before, that I would have thought too feminine or ostentatious for me. I realized just how much I had been limiting myself.

Slowly but surely, my collection grew. By the time it was time to return to the office, my once barren closet was teeming with life, and the person looking back at me in the mirror was different too.

For months I had been so absorbed with my external transformation that I hadn’t noticed changes taking place on the inside as well. As I re-emerged into the world, I found myself moving through it in a new way. I noticed that my clothes not only made me feel more confident but changed the way I interacted with people — and sometimes how they engaged with me. Where I was once a painfully shy introvert, hidden facets of my personality began to emerge, and for the first time in my life, I felt like me.

As time passed, my style became more and more refined, and so did my sense of self. Deciding what to wear went from being a chore to a highlight of my day. By existing in the world in a way that felt authentic, I discovered a previously untapped source of joy.

Now, almost two years since that fateful September day, it’s hard to imagine being the person who was so unsure who she was, she refused to be anything. I am so grateful to her for never giving up on finding out. It’s scary to start over, but maybe dismantling the old is the only way to make room for the new. Purging the artifacts of an unwanted identity made space for all of the wonderful things that I never knew were available to me.

To quote RuPaul Charles, “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.” Whether we realize it or not, everything we adorn our bodies with is an extension of ourselves. If you can let go of who you have been or who you think you should be, you never know who you might become.

McKenna Hart is a digital designer at the Star, based in Toronto. Reach her via email: mdeighton@torstar.ca