A Fashion By Any Other Name

Content Warning: Discussion of various beauty standards.

When I meet people for the first time and they ask me about my hobbies, I’m pretty free with information related to my anime fannishness. It’s never been something that I’ve actively hid away from anyone, but there were definitely moments in the past where I thought twice about being open about it. At the rate I watch anime (and manage to hold down a full-time job), I probably shouldn’t have a lot of time or money left-over to pursue anything else. But I do happen to have other interests (surprising, I know), and one of them I tend to hold above the others even if it’s a little difficult to talk about.

Since my early college days I’ve been a fan of lolita fashion, and for the last several years I’ve been a collector and wearer of it. Anime Feminist, a site I hold in fairly high regard, recently had a feature on lolita fashion that did a good job of clearing up some of the misconceptions people tend to have about it. It got me thinking about the reasons why it initially appealed to me, and why I still enjoy it even as I creep onward toward middle age.

If you don’t have time to read the piece I linked above, I’ll summarize a few general points. Lolita fashion is rather unfortunately-named; it doesn’t have anything to do with the novel by Vladimir Nabokov, and in fact no one seems to really have a clear idea of where the name actually originated. I think the common theory is that it was a word that sounded cute to the Japanese women who originally codified the look. Likewise, it also differentiates itself from “Lolita-complex” or “loli-con,” which implies an attraction to young-looking women/girls more in line with the novel. The intent of lolita fashion, at least as I see it, is neither to try to look young nor to sexually attract anyone in particular; it’s meant to revel in decadence and frivolity and eschew the male gaze by featuring layers of relatively modest (at least in coverage) clothing and delicate, numerous accessories and trimmings. I’ve heard various theories on what “looks” the fashion is attempting to emulate, including women’s clothing from the Victorian and Rococo periods (the more common theory and the more visually-obvious one), as well as the multi-layered kimono that upper-class, royal women of the Heian period in Japan would wear. I can’t confidently say which is the right answer. All I really know is that I love it, and I’ve spent quite a bit of money putting together a collection I’m very fond of.

There aren’t a ton of moments in my life I remember in great detail, but one that will always stand out to me is the first time I saw someone wearing lolita fashion. It was in my college anime club and a friend-of-a-friend who was just always one of those very trendy kind of people, showed up in a black outfit and a wide, poofy skirt. I’m not sure if I asked her directly about her clothes or whether I found out what it was called through someone else, but the next time I had a chance to scour the internet I discovered EGL at Livejournal, the English-language hub for lolita fashion at a time when it was not nearly as well-known or accessible as it would eventually become. It would be years before I could afford any of my own lolita pieces, but I would keep up on news and updates (and proto-memes) all the same.

I, like a lot of people my age, grew up being taught to vilify the visual and emotional trappings of traditional femininity. As a kid I was often described as a tomboy (without any sort of the associated sports prowess, unfortunately). I liked to play outside, though, and most of the TV shows I was interested in were things like He-Man or G.I.Joe or Ducktales; series where the characters had adventures and got into fights and were generally just active agents in their own stories. I just found them to be more cool and appealing than Strawberry Shortcake or My Little Ponies (though looking back there were things about almost all of them that were fundamentally the same, especially the thinly-veiled toy advertisement component). There was a year or two where I was extremely into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I recall approaching my mother and timidly asking her if I could have a TMNT toy the next time we went to Target, expecting her to say no because I felt as though I was asking for something transgressive – a girl who disliked her girlhood, asking for a “boy toy” back when those were more segregated. Instead I’m sure she just shrugged her shoulders; I later understood that a girl asking to exist within a world of masculinity is seen as more understandable than the opposite scenario. I eventually ended up with a decent collection of action figures as my tastes started skewing more toward Ronin Warriors and other anime-in-disguise. I think there was a part of my brain that felt like there was something special about me because I wasn’t as interested in dolls or Barbies as I was in video games and action figures. I wasn’t like “those other girls,” and that particularly toxic line of thinking crept into how I perceived myself and other girls and women far too long into my adulthood.

Society is twisted in that it manipulates (by design) women and people who perform traditionally feminine gender traits. It provides many a nigh-unattainable standard of beauty, and then mocks those who spend their time and resources attempting to live up to those impossible standards. Women wear makeup to look as though they’re not wearing any makeup. They’re told to cultivate a curvaceous figure but only within a very narrow bust-waist-hip ratio. They can’t wander too far in either a “prudish” or “slutty” fashion direction, lest they be ridiculed. It’s no wonder that I spent most of my teen years and early twenties hiding myself beneath baggy jeans and flannels.

When I decided to buy my first lolita piece right around when I turned 30, I don’t think that there was anything in particular that prompted me to do it. I’d been following the fashion from the sidelines for so long that I think just having the extra cash on hand and the means to get something I liked made me click that “buy” button. In its own way, I think it started to feel like a transgressive act, one that echoed my plea for a Ninja Turtle so many years before, and as someone who was stuck in an unhealthy relationship (but didn’t yet realize it) I had the urge to wield some kind of power. I think what I didn’t expect was how good I would feel once that dress showed up in the mail.

It’s taken me a long time to acknowledge the fact that there’s nothing wrong with appreciating things that are beautiful. And there’s also nothing wrong with trying to embody a beautiful aesthetic. Sure, there are more immediate, physical harms to consider – the act of consumption, for one – but to appreciate beauty in whatever form is most meaningful to you is a pure desire, in my opinion. For much of my life my relationship with my own body hadn’t been very loving or accepting; the reminders of my womanhood were insecurities that pointed out to me that I was thought of as less-than. I’d done so many things to hide myself and become smaller. The thing is, when you wear lolita fashion, hiding or shrinking is distinctly impossible because your skirt alone may take up two bus seats and the flamboyant patterns and designs on most iconic lolita dresses differentiate you from everyone else. And it’s funny; while I initially felt anxious going out in public dressed so abnormally, wearing beautiful layers of lace and ribbon eventually began to feel to me like donning a suit of armor. It freed my mind from worrying too much about how other people might scrutinize me, because I knew that’s what they were doing anyway and only because they just didn’t “get it.” There’s something almost amusing about knowing that people are trying and failing to secretly snap a photo of you with their cell phone camera without you noticing; when you’re dressed up like a cake topper, it becomes like a game to stare them down and silently call them out. It’s like wielding feminine witchcraft, powerful and intoxicating. They can’t touch me beneath my layers of lace and magic and obstinate, contrarian beauty.

This isn’t to say that those who choose to dress up closer to the norm are somehow missing something from their lives; I strongly believe that all people should be able to dress in a way that feels most comfortable and brings them joy. For me, that way happens to involve petticoats and bonnets.

With the world closed down I’ve had precious few opportunities to dress up, and I feel like I’ve been missing out on something that’s deeply important to me. Sure, there’s nothing stopping me from dressing up in my office (where I store my collection), but somehow it doesn’t feel quite the same as going to the Mall of America and getting a rise out of people, or going to a convention where I can just let loose and have a good time. I am so anxious so much of the time and yet, when I put on my armor I truly start to feel invincible. It’s the magic of doing and becoming and being something you love.