Clothes and I: Style and the Journey to Personal Acceptance

I dressed weirdly in high school. I first got interested in clothing at the end of seventh grade, and my interest grew exponentially from there. By freshman year of high school, my daily uniform became a Telfar ringer T-shirt and a pair of oversized Eckhaus Latta blue jeans. I spent my spare time researching fashion brands, and my second home was the Opening Ceremony store on Los Angeles’ La Cienega Boulevard. 

Although I could not verbalize it then, my interest in fashion was a form of protest.

I had known I was gay since I was 7 years old and Googled “boys kissing” on my home computer. I never experienced ambiguity about my sexual identity. I was gay, and I knew it. 

My middle school peers would repeatedly interrogate me, asking if I was gay. Of course, I denied, denied and denied their questions, while wearing vintage flared jeans and flashy, bright clothes that I definitely was not pulling off, in retrospect. In my closeted rage, I did not completely sacrifice who I was. Instead, I tried to express my identity in any way other than verbally. 

Weinberg second-year Alex Sudmann said his style allowed him to control his narrative. “In high school, everyone always said, ‘You're gay,’ and I was like, ‘That's not true.’ Subconsciously, I tried to dress to reflect that narrative. I wanted to wear clothes that did not reflect any ambiguity in my [sexuality],” Sudmann says. 

Sudmann came out during his senior year of high school and finally felt free to wear what he wanted. “I'll just put on this cropped t-shirt, wear whatever else and go to school. People can think what they want of me, and I'll just keep going,” he says. 

I came out at the end of my sophomore year, when the pandemic lockdown started. In the following weeks, I bleached my whole head then got a buzz cut. My already weird fashion sense turned into the most ridiculous, deep-cut choices possible. 

First-year Dune Zawadzki had a different experience, embracing her queerness at an early age. “I've always known I was queer. I came out when I was like 12. I would hook up with girls at bar mitzvahs,” Zawadzki says. 

Rather, Zawadzki underwent a journey of accepting her body and femininity. 

“My style is like flamboyant androgyny. I've always been into male-ish aesthetics, but it was almost forced because I didn't feel comfortable feeling beautiful and feminine,” she says. “Now, I’m completely comfortable with tighter, form-fitting clothing because I'm not ashamed of my form anymore.”

The process of accepting and expressing one’s identity can be difficult for many people. However, Sudmann saw his coming out as a rare second chance at defining himself.

“I don't think a lot of people get the opportunity to be one person for so long, but then all of a sudden be like, ‘No, that's not me.’ I think one of the biggest ways to redefine how I saw myself was how I dressed,” Sudmann says.

My conversation with Sudmann led me to reconsider my outlook on my coming out experience. For a long time, I had been ashamed of how long it took me to come out. I regretted not being more confident in high school and not championing my gayness. But, the duality inherent to queer people is a beautiful, meaningful experience. I have come to treasure who I was when I was closeted and who I have become. 

At Northwestern, I have felt authentically myself for the first time in my life. I have not felt pressured to lie and section off parts of my identity. I am grateful for the community I have found who accepts me.

Sudmann cited a similar feeling of acceptance. He’s from Malibu, California, and transferred to Northwestern from the University of Virginia because the UVA campus felt much less accepting than what he was used to. He feels much more at home at Northwestern.

“I'm feeling great about who I am. I don't think I've ever been more confident in my identity as I am here,” he says. “I'm surrounded by so many people who support me — it doesn't feel like [my identity] is different here. I don’t feel like I’m standing out.” 

Zawadzki shares that sentiment: “It's also freeing because you can really be androgynous. You can be feminine, you can be masculine, and there are always people who hype you up.”

I am grateful for the spaces I’ve found and the people I’ve met. The middle school version of me would not fathom a world where I talk openly about my desperate need for a boyfriend and the celebrity crush I have on Paul Mescal. The conversations that straight, cisgender people have without a second thought are things that have taken me years to get the confidence to say. 

I am happy with where I am, though I still have work to do. For so long I felt I had to prove my masculinity because of my queerness. Whether through my style or through my behaviors, I felt I had to overcompensate to be a man. Now I have a better understanding of my own masculinity and am ready to embrace styles that reflect it. I want my gayness to be seen by my community and the world, a feeling that Zawadzki echoed. 

“People can always tell I'm queer. I'm glad that people catch on. It's nice to be able to be seen by your community and to see others in your community,” she says. 

I am excited to see where my personal style goes from here. I want to lean into the absurd and wacky, but more importantly, I want to express who I am at my core. Throughout my life, clothes have protected and empowered me. The clothes I have worn tell the story of my life better than I ever could.

As an adolescent, I was too scared to wear what I wanted. I feared judgment and did not want to stand out. Now, I embrace how powerful I feel in clothing. I wear my long wool coat when I want to feel assertive, or I opt for my slouchy blue jeans to recall my LA roots. I choose clothes that make me feel confident.  

On fashion, Sudmann says, “That's my little way of standing up for who I am.”