\u2018Wearing yellow spreads a bit of love\u2019<\/p>\n
Andrew Geldart, 65, retired engineer, Cornwall<\/p>\n
For 30 years as a civil engineer I wore conventional grey and navy, then I retired at 55, moved down to Bude in Cornwall with my wife, Lynn, and the sun came out. Bude is a positive place, where you can be yourself. Everyone is friendly; it\u2019s paradise.<\/p>\n
I first started down the yellow route 10 years ago when we moved to Bude with a camper van called Primrose. People gave me yellow accessories for it and the seed was sown \u2013 I thought I might wear yellow myself. Now it\u2019s a mainstay of my wardrobe. I wear it practically every day. I have everything from yellow caps to yellow shoes. I prefer sunflower yellow rather than mustard tones: it\u2019s bright and cheerful.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t always go \u201cfull banana\u201d! I dress according to the situation. I wouldn\u2019t wear yellow to a Remembrance Day parade, but I would to a funeral of a friend, as I\u2019m known for wearing it and I would be honouring them. If I want to go under the radar, I wear beige. I\u2019m a church leader and help run the food bank: usually people know me there and adjust their behaviour accordingly, but when they don\u2019t recognise me because I\u2019m not in yellow, I can blend into the background and hear what the community really want.<\/p>\n
There are practical benefits. My grandchildren can easily spot me in a crowd. In fact, they walk past me if I\u2019m not wearing yellow, and ask: \u201cWhere\u2019s Pops?\u201d But the main reason I choose to stand out is to connect with people, to show that I am friendly and approachable, even if I\u2019m not smiling.<\/p>\n
Someone says, \u201cI like your glasses\u201d, nearly every day (I have a jazzy, stripy, bright yellow summer pair and a more muted, translucent yellow winter pair), and that opens the door to a conversation. There are so many isolated people looking down at their phones, and if I can encourage someone to talk, I\u2019m happy. I want to spread a bit of love in the world and to show that it\u2019s safe to say how you really are, to get past just \u201cGood morning\u201d. A coffee and a chat can be a little glimpse of sunshine.<\/p>\n
I have toyed with changing to red or green, and that would be a new conversation \u2013 \u201cWhat happened? Why aren\u2019t you wearing yellow?\u201d It\u2019s a colour that works for me, but never say never: men\u2019s fashion is quite limited when it comes to yellow, so I may be forced to change to another bright colour one day.<\/p>\n
Sometimes the old conventional and staid engineer part of me thinks, \u201cCan I get away with this? Is this too much?\u201d But I saw a picture of the late David Hockney in his yellow glasses recently and thought, \u201cMaybe I\u2019m not ridiculous.\u201d I want to give people the courage to step outside the box \u2013 let\u2019s make life enjoyable.<\/p>\n
As told to Emily Cunningham<\/p>\n
\u2018I like to subvert the expectations of how a shrink ought to dress\u2019<\/p>\n
Anouchka Grose, 56, psychoanalyst, London<\/p>\n
Photograph: Alicia Canter\/The Guardian<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t want to dress too conservatively as I don\u2019t want to look like an authority figure, or like someone who believes that \u201canalytic neutrality\u201d \u2013 the idea that the therapist is a blank slate \u2013 means some kind of John Lewis cosplay. \u201cNeutrality\u201d can\u2019t mean aligning with a dominant norm \u2013 psychotherapists need to be critical thinkers. But what I wear also can\u2019t be so unusual that the client is distracted. Overall, I\u2019m aiming for a kind of quiet surrealism \u2013 a balance between comfortable, pleasurable and characterful.<\/p>\n
So I have a vague uniform of a genderless jumper or jacket \u2013 a strict-looking black jacket with pointy shoulders, say \u2013 with a man\u2019s shirt or T-shirt, big trousers (I\u2019m currently loving a stripy pair from Maison Margiela I found on eBay) and ugly shoes, usually Uggs I buy secondhand. Most things are outsized, or loose.<\/p>\n
Very often my T-shirts will have a slogan \u2013 my favourite is \u201cDress for the male gays\u201d. It references Laura Mulvey\u2019s theory that there could be a male gaze that things are constructed around, which was one of the first ways into psychoanalysis for me. But it\u2019s also a funny wordplay referencing the post-Freudians, who thought of homosexuality as a kind of sickness to cure. I see that T-shirt as a sort of apology for the past homophobia of psychoanalysis. Plus it makes clients laugh, which is allowed. (Freud took jokes extremely seriously.)<\/p>\n
Subverting the expectations of how a shrink ought to dress has been a real theme for me. A patient once asked me: \u201cAre you allowed to wear those trousers to work?\u201d They were balloonish red and white checked ones. And sometimes when I\u2019ve given papers at analytic conferences, the other shrinks will be, like, \u201cYeah, but what do you wear for work?\u201d (It is no different from what I am wearing at the conference.)<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve always loved clothes and the way they transmit meaning. I love the crazy semiotics of them \u2013 communicating social signals to other people who know those signals. That seems very psychoanalytic to me.<\/p>\n
They always say that as a psychoanalyst you get the patients you deserve. I really like that idea. There have been some people I frightened away because of how I looked, and that\u2019s good.<\/p>\n
Maybe that\u2019s why I don\u2019t spend too long worrying how people will perceive me. Psychoanalysis teaches you that associations are fractured and kaleidoscopic. So you can\u2019t really control the meanings that other people make; any garment could mean anything to anyone.<\/p>\n
\u2018My love of vintage is a rejection of capitalism\u2019<\/p>\n
Annastasia, 62, author, Devon<\/p>\n
Photograph: Emma Stoner\/The Guardian<\/p>\n
What I wear is an integral aspect of my identity. I am what I wear, and what I wear is secondhand, sometimes reproduction, clothing that dates between the 1920s and about 1966. It stops there because I think the mid\u201160s is when life started to change from being a very ordered, slow society to something else. I was born in 1964, so I\u2019ve pretty much lived in the something else period; I\u2019ve always rejected the current timeline I live in.<\/p>\n
Seeing The Wizard of Oz when I was four was the starting point. I was born into a poor, working-class family, and everything seemed really grey. That film, with its heightened colours, fired my imagination as to what clothing \u2013 and the world \u2013 could look like. Then, when I was about six, a friend of my mother\u2019s dropped round a pile of what she thought were dressing-up clothes \u2013 50s ball gowns and cocktail dresses. When I put them on, I felt completely myself, which I didn\u2019t in the functional, ubiquitous clothes of the day. I saw then that getting dressed could become a creative thing. At 12, I began dressing like this. Now, every day the first creative choices I make are what to wear. It\u2019s ritualistic.<\/p>\n
My love of vintage clothing is an outward rejection of advanced capitalism and the tyranny of its desperate buy, buy, buy culture, which results in so much clothing being sent to landfill. I like colours that are more muted, which you get in vintage fabrics. The last thing I would buy as a winter coat would be a puffer jacket that makes you look like a caterpillar. It would be wool, 1950s, cinched in.<\/p>\n
Through my clothing, I am expressing that attire can be inexpensive, ethical, well made and, to me, aesthetically pleasing. I like the values of vintage clothing: care, attention, consideration and slowness. But that isn\u2019t to say that I\u2019m about nostalgia or traditional values. I would hate anyone to think I was espousing tradwife values via the way I dress. Quite honestly, in my 60s, I can dress the way I want to.<\/p>\n
I have faced criticism for what I wear. When I was working alongside women and girls in Birmingham in the 70s and 80s, feminist organisations used to be very judgmental towards me. It was as if I had to prove my credentials more than other women because I wasn\u2019t wearing jeans and Dr Martens. By contrast, the people I visited as part of the community outreach I was doing used to say how impressed they were that I had made such an effort to dress nicely for them.<\/p>\n
I now write time-slip fiction \u2013 where present-day characters get entangled with those from the past \u2013 under the pen name Pearl Fane<\/a>. The pivotal character lives in England in the 50s. It\u2019s so useful because I can relate to how she might have experienced the world by how clothing felt on her.<\/p>\n People are surprised I dress like this every day \u2013 but I wouldn\u2019t know any other way of being.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m a rabbi, and I like to coordinate my shoes with the 12 Hebrew months\u2019<\/p>\n Arielle Stein, 35, rabbi, New York<\/p>\n Photograph: Maegan Gindi\/The Guardian<\/p>\n I have been figuring out my style for a long time. I started out as a visual artist; now I\u2019m a congregational rabbi, and I\u2019ve been working to meld the more formal with the more alternative. The result is a quirky mix of some business-casual, some downtown hipster, and then truly random things that delight me.<\/p>\n Style has always been a way to communicate my identity; I think of it as a form of storytelling. As a rabbi, there are definitely norms around how you should present. But I think being on the younger side, and a woman, freed me from a lot of that; no matter what, I wasn\u2019t going to look like the traditional model. Plus, I deeply love to subvert a norm: for me it\u2019s about adding to the mosaic of what\u2019s possible.<\/p>\n I have a role in a lot of important life-cycle moments and I think it\u2019s vital I don\u2019t take centre stage. But people are drawn to me either on an artistic or creative level, or on a peer level. So the style element is important.<\/p>\n Our generation has had a lot of struggles connecting to religion and spirituality, and I think for people to meet a rabbi who looks like them definitely creates a sense of comfort. My style often functions as an invitation: I get a lot of emails that start with something about style and then get into something that person has wanted to talk about and hasn\u2019t yet found a way that felt comfortable to them.<\/p>\n There are a few occasions when I have more of a uniform. At the synagogue I work at, we\u2019re a pretty traditional Reform congregation, and so we all wear a mandated robe on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But, at the same time, because we are a progressive denomination, we all select our own shoes.<\/p>\n Shoes in general are a nice way of bringing that alternative personal flavour. I like to coordinate mine with the 12 Hebrew months: for instance, wearing low-key Birkenstocks for the contemplative month of Tammuz; freaky jelly sandals for Adar, which is the month of Purim and the craziest time of the year; and Vibram five-toed Mary Janes for Nisan, the month of exodus and the Passover story, as they\u2019d be perfect for getting through the desert. In fact, I wear different shoes for each night of Passover, from studded Madewell mules on night five, when I\u2019m thinking about plagues and boils, to blood-red Tory Burch mules on night six, when I\u2019m thinking about the Passover sacrifice.<\/p>\n We often get stuck in an idea that Judaism is one way or one thing only, and that\u2019s exceedingly not true. I think we\u2019re living in a visual culture right now, so this type of representation helps people remember that. It creates an opportunity for people to come as they are and to feel as if they can be Jewish in a way that feels authentic to them.<\/p>\n Key for me is showing the Jewish community and the world that multiplicity is a deep part of who we are, and caring about style doesn\u2019t mean that you don\u2019t have a place in the Jewish world.<\/p>\n \u2018My bright clothes are welcoming to my patients\u2019<\/p>\n Dr Bhasha Mukherjee<\/a>, 30, GP, London<\/p>\n Photograph: Alicia Canter\/The Guardian<\/p>\n There aren\u2019t really any rules for how to dress as a GP. One of my first bosses used to wear a full suit, and another would dress in a band T-shirt and jeans. I think you can take those liberties when you have been around long enough and developed a relationship with patients.<\/p>\n I tend to wear something that is a cross between expressing how I\u2019m feeling and being comfortable. I exercise every day, so part of my outfit is usually sportswear, but it\u2019s a little bit glam, a little bit sexy, and I might wear it under a blazer. I love wearing a blazer; it\u2019s power dressing. But it\u2019s not going to be a boring black blazer. It\u2019s going to be patterned, maybe even fuchsia pink. I love colour \u2013 dopamine dressing is a core theme for me.<\/p>\n Jewellery is also important \u2013 I\u2019ve got autism and ADHD, and I use it as a tactile, fidgeting thing. I will fidget with my necklace as I\u2019m talking to patients because it helps me stay focused on what they\u2019re saying.<\/p>\n There\u2019s evidence for trust levels in doctors being dependent on what they wear. But it\u2019s not always simple. I remember one day I turned up in scrubs and my boss was, like, \u201cDon\u2019t be looking so scruffy at work.\u201d I think Covid changed scrubs. They were definitely a dress code during the pandemic \u2013 they became the norm \u2013 but since then they have been hijacked by non-medical people on social media, a status symbol for influencers trying to gain the public\u2019s trust. It confuses patients. I don\u2019t need scrubs and a stethoscope to showcase my professionalism. Plus, I like to express myself more \u2013 I feel as if that\u2019s more welcoming to patients, anyway.<\/p>\n A part of me likes being a rebel. All through medical school, as a woman, I got shamed for wearing certain things at work. I would get called out by female colleagues who said my lipstick shade was too dark and unprofessional. Now I don\u2019t feel like anybody can tell me that. I grew up consuming fashion magazines in the 00s \u2013 I do not walk out of the house without lipstick on.<\/p>\n One thing I won\u2019t wear in a professional setting is Indian dress. When I dress in that way I\u2019m very maximalist and I will wear the full outfit: the sari, the head jewellery, neck jewellery. I can\u2019t pare it back, so I\u2019ve never dressed that way for work.<\/p>\n \u2018Grunge feels like a form of quiet rebellion\u2019<\/p>\n Lorenzo Tondo<\/a>, 44, international correspondent, Sicily<\/p>\n Photograph: Alessio Mamo\/The Guardian<\/p>\n I can pinpoint the exact moment when my obsession with workwear began. It was the winter of 2018 and I was heading to the frozen mountains of Bosnia to cover the refugee crisis. Thousands of Syrian, Iraqi and Afghan refugees were moving along the Balkan route, hoping to reach Europe after weeks of walking through snow, mud and dense forests.<\/p>\n I needed clothes that were practical and forgiving. That was when I remembered a pair of old Carhartt trousers buried in a cupboard. I had worn them heavily in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Wide-cut and designed to take a beating, they were faded now, tighter than I remembered, but still comfortable. I decided to take them with me. I needed trousers I wouldn\u2019t mourn if they ended the day soaked through, caked in mud or torn. Their approachability was a plus, too: I\u2019ve reported on the war in Ukraine<\/a>, in the occupied West Bank<\/a> and in Syria<\/a> for the last six years and know that a blazer, however well intentioned, can quietly reinforce distance.<\/p>\n Ever since then, I\u2019ve hunted down loose-fitting vintage pieces: early-90s Carhartt jackets and at least three pairs of wide-leg trousers not unlike the ones I used to skate in as a teenager. I have worn them on the frontlines of the war in Ukraine<\/a>, in cities flattened by the earthquake in Turkey<\/a>, and amid the chalky dust of Idlib<\/a>, in rebel-held north-west Syria. But also at home in Italy: for shopping, or heading out for a day trip with my children, or going out for dinner with friends.<\/p>\n This was the style I had grown up with in the 90s, in a small town on the south-western coast of Sicily. Grunge originated in the Pacific north-west of America \u2013 a place of rain and lumber towns. I might have belonged to a very different community nearly 10,000km away, but I felt a shared sense of values. In my town, people dressed in Dolce & Gabbana and Gucci on Sundays. Wearing old clothes felt like a form of quiet, necessary rebellion against the superficial aesthetics of luxury fashion.<\/p>\n As I got older, I started drifting towards something more conventional. Then grunge came back into fashion, along with the bands I used to listen: Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Rage Against the Machine. Call it Peter Pan syndrome if you like, but slim jeans, tidy knitwear and carefully tailored coats have never felt like home. Grunge is a style that helps me feel rooted, wherever I am. Last year, I attended a press conference that the Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, was giving in Jerusalem. Most people were in suits and ties. I was wearing baggy, faded jeans and a loose beige shirt. Being one of the only people dressed differently brought back that feeling of rebellion that had fuelled my youth. \u2018My motto now I\u2019ve lost my eyesight is: if\u00a0they\u2019re gonna look, make them stare\u2019<\/p>\n Lucy Edwards, 30, disability activist, near\u00a0Birmingham <\/p>\n Photograph: Ayesha Jones\/The Guardian<\/p>\n What I wear has changed a lot over the years. I lost my eyesight nearly 14 years ago \u2013 the sight in my right eye at 11 and left eye at 17. I don\u2019t wear the clothes \u201csighted Lucy\u201d used to wear \u2013 I\u2019ve come so far and if I were to dress as her that would be weird. Sighted Lucy had a lot of internalised ableism. She wore things that might have made her feel amazing because she looked in the mirror \u2013 they were a lot more skin-tight \u2013 and now blind Lucy prioritises things that are flowy and tactile. It\u2019s been a long journey to get here.<\/p>\n I feel happiest when I feel the most comfy, which isn\u2019t necessarily what looks the best, and I\u2019m OK with that. I had this little voice in my head for so long, saying, \u201cA sighted person has to tell you whether it looks good, whether it flatters your body\u201d. Whereas now what I wear is just what I feel the best in, and often that is sequins, feathers, velour, silk \u2013 things that feel nice.<\/p>\n When I was planning my wedding, all the girls in my life came down and watched me try on dresses, but it was really important that I put the dress on alone first and asked myself, \u201cDo I want to show this to my family? Do I want their sighted opinion, or do I just want my opinion here?\u201d So that was a big part of me choosing. The dress I picked was so lovely that I didn\u2019t have to have that visual affirmation \u2013 I knew in myself it was right. Although I did love their reaction when I came out in it.<\/p>\n I do still ask my sighted family about colour, and my sister is my mirror when I need one. She has autism, and because her world is black and white she will say directly, \u201cNo, you can\u2019t wear that\u201d or \u201cYes, you can.\u201d That provides so much comfort. Often, if I dress in colour it tends to be the same colour top and bottom, which is why I end up wearing a lot of co-ords.<\/p>\n When it comes to what I wear, my voice has definitely got louder the older I\u2019ve become. My motto is: if they\u2019re gonna look, make them stare. So I make sure to have a glittery harness for my guide dog, Miss Molly, or a glittery cane for me. I also make sure me and Miss Molly match. I see it as part of my activism. For so long I hated being a guide-dog user. But now I\u2019m, like, \u201cNo, Lucy, that is so much internalised ableism, absolutely effing not.\u201d<\/p>\n I get dressed more for myself now than ever. I still wear heels, which surprises some people. I\u2019m less likely to go for stilettos, but if I do I just change my cane height to match. I put on makeup and get dressed. People will ask why, given it\u2019s so visual. But I\u2019m seeing the non\u2011visual elements of it. It\u2019s a ritual and it grounds me. What I wear has to feel happy. Getting dressed now is freeing \u2013 I can just be myself.<\/p>\n
Lorenzo Tondo<\/a><\/p>\n