“When you’re good at something, you’ll tell everyone. When you’re great at something, they’ll tell you.”
It’s more than just the sycophantic narcissism parade that is The Met Gala Ball.
Men’s style is super loud right now.
And the “look at me” thing has trickled down to the more affordable price points:
Target. J. Crew. Banana Republic.
Giving the people (lonely, scared, and yearning to be seen) what they want?
But it’s a mistake. It’s often sad, self-destructive nonsense. Here’s why.
Wearing excruciatingly loud stuff will draw attention to the wearer. Once they have that attention, they often expose themselves, in that moment, as being nothing more than an attention seeker.
Which will only torpedo their struggling confidence even more, leading their craving of attention to only grow, thus resulting in even less validation and feelings of acceptance… and the cycle continues.
Ah, man. I’m actually rooting for Ben Simmons. He likely has the yips. Like Simone Biles and Rick Ankiel.
Anyone with severe anxiety or who has gone through panic attacks has an idea of what Simmons may be fighting.
It’s freaking sad, man. It’s desperation. Posturing. A sartorial bridge to nowhere. A brightly suited, designer-logo wearing boy who cried wolf.
And as someone who has had rolling, ego-mutilating, crushing anxiety attacks for years now, I speak from experience.
My insecurities haven’t necessarily manifested themselves in wearing loud outfits. This job and how this website is positioned prevents that. But that’s probably one of the reasons why I’ve positioned Dappered so. Y’know, as a sort of self-regulating preventative measure against stepping out and garnering unwanted attention.
This is what it looks like to want attention but then hate it when you get it.
Hell, even my Doc said it:
“I’m diagnosing you with severe clinical depression. But you’re high performing. I have to ask. Do you hear voices?”
F*cking great. Thanks. Also, no. Not yet at least.
What I’m saying is I 100% understand what it’s like to be the loudest one in the room, and then suddenly realize you’ve exposed yourself as the weakest one in the room.
I might very well be doing that right now, with this post you’re presently reading.
Look, if the wearer of something absurdly (key word: absurdly) loud and flashy truly believed there was a “there” there within them (something to be admired, some sort of capability, something powerful and purposeful and truly “cool”), then they would feel absolutely zero need to draw such intense attention to themselves.
And all it takes is one, small moment. One misplaced exhale, and their entire mental house of cards will come tumbling down.
“Look at me!”
“Okay, I’m looking, now what.”
“Sh*t.”
Dammit lady, get that mic outta my face.
So what’s the solution?
Build and maintain a foundation. One that supports you and doesn’t sabotage you. One that reflects on the outside how you want to feel about yourself on the inside. No we don’t have to look the same. Yes this will all mean different things to different people. And of course we’re all gonna have fun with bright colors and prints now and again. C’mon, I’m not arguing for a universal “blah” uniform.
Yet you want to build a foundation which acknowledges dressing well is a means to an end. Or many different if not complimentary ends. Just avoid the trap of believing that dressing well in and of itself is somehow noble, exemplary, and unique. It’s not.
We all want to be acknowledged. Recognized as worthy by those we admire. That’s how we evolved. Because groups of people who like and value each other, working together, are more likely to survive when things get tough.
But noise for the sake of noise doesn’t do that.
Be known for more than your clothes.
