Last Tuesday evening, I was laying on my couch, three glasses into a bottle of sauvignon blanc I’d opened “just to enjoy one glass with dinner,” mindlessly scrolling through footage from the latest red carpet premiere when shit really hit the fan. My TV announcers were suddenly yelling, my phone was blowing up with notifications and I almost hurled my wine bottle across my flat in my effort to sit up straight enough to see what the hell was going on. When something truly crazy happens on TV, there’s always that millisecond pause where you realise what you’re seeing isn’t going to fit into the realm of normal human behaviour.
And it was during that second that I took in Alana Rivera’s entrance at the Met Gala. Her dress; excuse me, her gown; resembled a literal shrine of lingerie and spaghetti straps held together by safety pins and the tragedy that is goodwill’s clearance rack. You couldn’t see her body underneath because, well, you could clearly see her body through the gown.
I audibly gasped “OH MY GOD” into my living room, which I immediately regretted when my cat looked at me like I’d forgotten to feed him. Within minutes my text messages with my fashion-forward girlfriends had turned into an onslaught of tears and laughter emojis, all caps declarations of “I CAN’T”, and my closest friend who currently works at Vogue straight up sent me a gif of someone’s jaw dropping.
Twitter, of course, was full of chaos.
Some users insisted the dress was inappropriate and vile, others were telling us Rivera had just made the biggest fashion statement about American culture yet.
Personally? I couldn’t peel my eyes away.
As mortified as I was about what little clothing she had chosen to wear, I was even more fascinated by how she wore it. She sauntered down the red carpet like she owned every inch of skin showing. She made eye contact with reporters.
There was zero indication that she felt vulnerable or uncomfortable wearing literally half a dress. It was undeniable; she had grace. My grandmother used to tell me that confidence was the best accessory you could wear.
Grandma has a lot of rules like that because she’s from a different generation. But mostly, she liked to say that while wearing her fuzzy Adidas slides with everything after age 70. Watching Rivera strut her stuff, however, really drove that point home.
Sure, her dress made headlines but it was how unashamedly she rocked it that made it iconic. Months later, I still think about that moment and credit it with changing my entire outlook on how I dress myself every day. Now, don’t get me wrong.
I’m not proposing we all run around half naked for the sake of making people uncomfortable. I mean, technically I could get away with that since I live in Chicago and work from home. But going full Rivera isn’t really my point.
What I took from that moment was how little I worry about how my body will be perceived when I get dressed in the mornings. I overthink everything about my outfits before leaving the house. How will my arms look in this sleeveless top?
Oh god, what if I run into my boss at the grocery store wearing that? I can’t wear that bodycon dress, I’m too old for that. Blah blah excuse after excuse my brain comes up with to talk me out of any outfit that shows half my damn self.
So I made it my mission to put some of “Rivera Energy” into my summer wardrobe. Not necessarily literal nudity we can’t all afford health insurance for, but confidence in your outfit choice. I bought this white linen dress that I love so much but is so dang see-through I can practically see my body outline when I stand in the sunlight.
The old Molly would’ve purchased this dress online, tried it on in the privacy of her living room, freaked out about how see-through it was and returned it the next day. Instead, I wore this dress 95% nude to brunch with friends last Sunday and felt SO GOOD. Three separate women asked me where I got it.. not one of them mentioned that they could see my bra and I wasn’t joking when I told you I spent half the morning freaking out about it!
Then I found this cute little jumpsuit with cutouts that undoubtedly show way more skin than I’ve shown since my own blogger friends wedding.. Back when my Instagram was solely photos of my face and memes. My girlfriends laughed at me when I sent them pics in the dressing room..
Emma said it was “very FW energy”, which translated to she thought I was nuts for wearing it but we liked it enough to unhelpfully let me try it on anyways. Guess what? I wore that jumpsuit to pick my partner up from the train last Thursday and some girl at Whole Foods complimented me.
News flash: no one cares what you’re wearing as much as you think they do. I saved the best for last. This beautiful blue halter top that I would be lying if I said required no delicate undergarment choreography to wear.
It’s daring, bright blue and yes.. falls into that category of clothing that would 100% make my mum ask me if I’m “going through something.” Instead of freaking out about how scandalous it was I wore it to hang out with friends at a rooftop patio/barbecue in Logan Square last Saturday. The second I got off the train I was ready for judgey looks and comments about my insane outfit choice.. And you know what happened?
Nothing. Well, not nothing. People complimented how bright the blue was and that they loved my outfit.
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When you wear something that could be perceived as controversial with confidence people pick up on that energy rather than your actual clothing choice. No one made uncomfortable comments about my “back situation”. A Vogue editor I’d been pitching for months actually introduced herself to me and started chatting me up about freelance opportunities instead of screaming internally about how my spine was on display for the Chicago summer sun to microwave.
The only person who said anything remotely close to negative was my friend Marcus. He asked me where I got the top and instead of saying something along the lines of “… well *awkward laughter* it’s kinda backless” I said the blue looked amazing on me. He didn’t even flinch.
He simply agreed with me and continued on about some ratchet wedding he recently shot. My point is nobody said anything! No judgments, concerns or questions..Just normal people going about their lives accepting my outfit choice because I felt good in it.
I’m not saying you should all go out and emulate whatever anison we want to call Alana Rivera wore to the Met Gala.. Unless you want to! Do you boo!
My point is merely that a lot of us; myself included spend entirely too much time worrying about what other people will think of our outfit choices.. Worrying about if we’re dressing too young for our age.. Worried about if our clothing choices are “appropriate”.
Rivera wore that dress because that’s exactly who she is. She wasn’t trying to be somebody she wasn’t for attention. And that’s something I’m willing to steal from this situation; her confidence.
Not her outfit necessarily, but how badass she looked wearing something that made her happy. I’ve started questioning every article of clothing I put on now. Instead of asking myself “what will people think of me if I wear this?”, I ask myself “would I wear this if I didn’t care what anyone thought?” Sometimes that means wearing the transparent dress or the backless top.
Sometimes that means wearing my comfiest jeans and an old concert tee shirt I got from who knows where. But as long as I’m choosing outfits that *I* like, that’s all that matters. Side note: the reactions to this whole new ‘outfit auditing’ process have been..
Meh, let’s go with mixed? My mum definitely gave me the stink eye when I showed up to family dinners wearing the jumpsuit but begrudgingly said nothing when I promised her I’d wear a jumper with it next time. My upstairs neighbour thought I got a new boyfriend when I exited my flat wearing my most form fitting clothing.
Like that was the only logical explanation for me suddenly deciding to change how I dress around my own home. And my old college professor spotted me at the Farmer’s market wearing the white dress and did the most obvious eye bulge known to mankind before saying something along the lines of “oh you look very summer like Molly!” LIKE MOMENT ON GRANDMA!. All these people above and I’m sure many others I haven’t even mentioned judged me.
Guessed at my outfit choices. Made snide remarks about how I was dressing.. But you know who didn’t judge me?
Me. While yes, I want people to like my outfit choices and think I dress a certain way, I at least want to like what I’m wearing. Wearing what makes YOU happy should be number one priority.
If others don’t like it, oh well. There’s plenty more fish in the sea and Target run to make! This whole mindset shift has changed how I do more than wear clothes.
I’ve been more vocal about my opinions in meetings at work. Sent pitches to magazines I’ve always been too scared to reach out to.
Even approached dating differently, looking at what I actually wanted rather than what I thought I was supposed to want.
Can we take a minute to say how damn wild it is that a pair of tanks tops and some straps changed my life?
No seriously, I’d be down to hear your thoughts in the comments below. But in all seriousness, it’s no secret that wearing whatever the fuck you want can be empowering.
Hell, fashion is my career and I still deal with people questioning my choice of outfits on the daily. Rivera knew wearing that dress would get people talking. She knew they would react.
But instead of letting that stop her from wearing what she wanted, she rocked that thing like it was prom and I’m forever grateful she did that for me and we can all learn from it. Now please don’t get me wrong, I’m not planning to replicate Rivera’s dress anytime soon. I still have to go into an office where we have an “Office Dress Code” so cray cray can’t happen every single day..
But I will say I’ve been wearing things that maybe I wouldn’t have previously felt 100% confident wearing. Just in case you were wondering I did pack along some fashion tape and safety pins. Because as much as I love expressing myself through my outfits, I’ll always be scared of twisting my ankle out of my clothing on the El.
