Errands in an Evening Dress: What Happens When You Don't Look Right

When running errands in my neighborhood, I'm usually in my gym outfit or something I found on the floor and threw on. I'm not someone who needs to look good at the grocery store, and my area (East Williamsburg, off of Graham Avenue) is pretty casual for New York. Like most people, I have an ingrained sense of what is "right" that often overrides my sense of the importance of looking fashionable, a phenomenon detailed by Anne Hollander in her book Sex and Suits. Hollander writes, "Most fashion in dress is adopted with the conscious wish not to look fashionable, but to look right" (Hollander, 11). I'll go to the corner bodega in running shorts and a sweaty tank top, but I won't do an afternoon deli run in a fancy dress and heels. In my area, the standard "uniform" is (for the 20-something white hipster transplants) ripped jeans and t-shirts or a casual, flowy cotton sundress; for the black and Hispanic families from the neighborhood, it's fitted caps, sneakers, tight tank tops and jewelry. Not a dressy area like Chelsea or SoHo.

What I wanted to explore was how my neighbors would react if I were to go about my errands dressed as though I were going to a party. How would people respond if I ignored the unspoken dress code associated with going about a casual day's business? Would people look askance at me if I went to the 99 cent store in my fanciest dress, heels, nicest jewelry and lots of makeup, or are New Yorkers so accustomed to strange sights on the street that they wouldn't care? Would my experiment with impression management (Goffman's term) make any impact on the people observing me, and if so, what kind?



The above is me in my outfit that I wore to the store. Here's a full-body shot:



The above represents the nicest going-out clothing I have (if I'd had something even more drastic -- a full-length evening gown, say -- I would have worn it, but I preferred to do the experiment with clothes I already owned). I don't dress up often but that black dress is my go-to "fancy" dress, the shoes are the highest heels I have, and the necklace is my favorite statement piece. I also applied red lipstick and eyeliner, and carried a small evening bag. Thus, the outfit was unusual for 3 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon in August.

I set off with my friend who was serving as photographer and who was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, heightening the contrast between our outfits. As we rounded the corner from my house, I noticed that the barista at my favorite coffeeshop was giving me a weird look through the window, almost like she couldn't place me. I go in there almost every day, usually in whatever I'm wearing that day (usually a casual skirt or shorts, sandals, and a tank top) and sometimes in my pajamas if I've just rolled out of bed. Apart from my barista, I didn't encounter anyone I knew personally during the outing.

Our first stop was the 99 cent store where I often go to pick up basic necessities like toilet paper or soap. That day I was looking for a new bath mat and some paper towels. The 99 cent store near me is quite dingy and badly lit, but also very cheap. As I walked in, I noticed that the guys who work there were checking me out a bit more than usual. Their prolonged gaze seemed less flattering and more invasive, though, as I already felt out-of-place walking into the corner shop in such a dramatic outfit.

This is me picking out a bath mat, struggling not to tip over in my 5.5-inch heels:



Here is me paying for my items. The woman behind the counter was unfazed by my outfit, but then again, in all the times I've been in there she's never seemed fazed by anything.



I teetered out of the store (I'm not very good at walking in heels) and my friend and I spent the next 20 minutes or so walking up and down Graham Avenue, popping in and out of a couple stores. In one store, Alter (where we weren't supposed to take pictures), the salespeople looked at me strangely and I felt a little shy. Alter is a hip store and I got the sense that they thought I was "trying too hard" (which I indeed was). I thought that the amount and intensity of catcalling on the street would increase because of my outfit, but it didn't. I assume this is partially because I was with a male friend, but also perhaps because my outfit looked odd in the context of the time and place. Did the men on the street think I looked good, or weird? I got the sense that it was the latter. I looked as though I were wearing a costume.

For our final stop on the excursion, we decided to go to White Castle, as I thought it would offer the starkest contrast between my clothing and my surroundings. I don't eat in White Castle generally, but I thought I would just go in and use the bathroom, and see what happened.

Here's me heading towards White Castle:



And going inside:



Inside, there were maybe four or five customers, all of whom gave me the once-over as I walked in. I think I saw one man smirk slightly, which made me feel very self-conscious. I entered the bathroom, washed my hands, and stared in the mirror. I looked odd, out of place, theatrical, standing in the harsh fluorescent lighting in a fast food restaurant.

As I left the restaurant and headed back to my apartment, I felt a sense of relief mixed with apprehension. I hoped I wouldn't run into one of my neighbors, as I didn't want to have to explain my outfit. It's not that my outfit was extreme, but it made me feel very out of place. I was surprised at how vulnerable I felt wearing fancy gear near my house; I theorized that I would probably feel more comfortable if I were in an environment where the possibility of running into someone I knew was slim. As I stepped into my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and shimmied out of my dress and instantly felt more comfortable.

Analysis:

Over and over during my experiment, I kept thinking to myself "I feel like I'm wearing a costume." Really, I was just wearing my own clothes on a regular day in my own neighborhood. Why did I feel so out of place? Later, I thought about the idea of theatrics and for me it recalled Erving Goffman's ideas in "The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life." Goffman describes human interaction in a community in theatrical terms; the idea is that we all wear masks all the time, and there is a front stage and back stage. Even when back stage, we're wearing some kind of mask. During this experiment, not only was I "on stage" but I was almost doubly on stage since I had altered my appearance. Even though I was just in my own clothes, I was still wearing a costume.

And I was also throwing a wrench into the "potentially infinite cycle" of the "information game" (Goffman, 8). In terms of the impression that I was giving off to others, I wasn't trying to make people see the "real" or "authentic" me, which is what most people normally try to do; instead, I aimed to visually confuse people and mess with my "impression management." I did this by trying to dress "incorrectly" in a still-plausible way.

This was also, I realized later, a way of playing with Georg Simmel's ideas about adornment and how we use it to either fit in or not fit in to a group. Simmel calls adornment "one of the strangest sociological combinations" (80); we do it both for ourselves and to please the group. Simmel writes that "the aesthetic phenomenon of adornment indicates a point within sociological interaction -- the arena of man's being-for-himself and being-for-the-other -- where these two opposite directions are mutually dependent as ends and means" (80-81). In my case, I wasn't trying to necessarily "please" my spectators, but instead throw them off, use their reactions as evidence in my own personal experiment. By consciously trying to not fit in by dressing in a way that wasn't appropriate for the neighborhood or time of day, I was able to gauge the effect of my adornment in a way that I wouldn't have been able to were I dressed normally.

What I discovered from this experiment was that Hollander's ideas about the importance of "looking right" are very correct (for me). I never realized how ingrained in me it was to look right or appropriate until I consciously tried not to do so. It almost felt like I was naked. With regard to people's reactions -- which I thought would be the main takeaway from the outing -- those turned out to be less notable than the effect the experiment had on me.

Works Cited:

Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Double Day, 1959.

Hollander, Anne. Sex and Suits. New York: Kodansha International, 1994.

Simmel, Georg. "Adornment." In The Rise of Fashion. Edited by Daniel Leonhard Purdy. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press. 1908 (1997).

Exploring Etsy: Carving Out a Niche in a DIY Wonderland

Introduction:

Etsy is a very unique place. The website is like a huge flea market, where sellers of homemade goods -- everything from jewelry to furniture to candles and cookware -- can set up virtual "stores" and sell their things to interested buyers. The site has everything an artisan would need. It also has everything a buyer would need, functioning like an enormous virtual catalog, or an "online craft fair, or art show," as the New York Times described it in a 2007 article. You can take a "taste test" and Etsy will provide scores of options that you might like -- or you can search for something (e.g. "retro lamps," "woven rugs") and options will come up.

The most interesting part of Etsy, though, is when you are neither buyer nor seller. There seems to be a third function of Etsy, and that is curating and displaying your taste. You can make things called "treasuries" - a list of sixteen items that you like that fall under a certain theme. The way people use Etsy in this way raises a lot of interesting themes. It recalls George Simmel's idea of "object affiliation," and, as Goffman describes, underscores the way people assert themselves virtually in the "information game" (Goffman, 8).

Method

To become a part of Etsy, you first have to make a profile. My username was mosie33, and my icon was a little Keith Haring baby.

I tried to project the same kind of image I saw all over Etsy -- that of a sort-of alternative, funky, bohemian city dweller with a love of vintage-y things. This was part of my attempt to fit in on the site. Although I'm not really like that -- as Goffman would put it, I'm a "performer" who is "not taken in at all by my own routine" (Goffman, 17) -- I wanted to give off the impression of being a real Etsy person so that the Etsy community wouldn't suspect that I was anything but authentic.

Next, I had to make connections. At first, I found this immensely confusing. Etsy is not as intuitive for users as one would hope, and I couldn't figure out at first how to interact effectively with other users. First, I "favorited" a number of different items for sale on the site, hoping that the sellers would notice that I favorited their goods and reach out to me. Nothing happened. Then I discovered circles. Circles are the equivalent of lists on Twitter, or friend lists on Facebook -- a way to organize other Etsy users you have some kind of connection with. I added a few people to my circle, but nothing really came of it -- no one really noticed me or interacted with me. No-one was taking note of my so-called unconventional, DIY taste.

Then, after a few days of wondering why no one would notice me despite how many I discovered Treasuries and Teams.

First, I joined the Etsy Treasury Hunter "team" (like a Facebook group -- teams range from "NYC Knitters" to "Vintage Lamp Lovers" to beyond) because I liked the idea of a treasure hunt. I wasn't quite sure how teams worked, but I checked the team's boards once a day to see what the other members (of which there were more than 300) were doing. The Treasury Hunter team consisted of people linking to their treasuries and commenting on other people's treasuries.

But what's a treasury?

A treasury is a collection of items chosen by a user, under a certain theme. For example, "Summer Siesta" or "Urban Pad." A user picks out 16 items that fall under their theme in some way, and posts them. Other users can comment on the treasury; views, Facebook and Twitter shares, and comments are all visible on the post. Here's my treasury right after I made it:

For a while, nothing happened. Then I posted my treasury to the Treasury Hunters board and also commented on four or five other treasuries so that people would notice my comments and interact with me. It worked! Here's what my treasury looked like after a day:

I laid off for a while, then checked back a few days later:

As you can see, the number of comments didn't increase drastically with time. But, I did manage to interact directly with an Etsy artisan, simply by showcasing his or her work. Etsy allowed me to "cut out the middleman," as it were.

Analysis:

In George Simmel's essay on adornment, he explores the tension between using fashion as a way to distinguish oneself from the group as opposed to using it to blend in: "the aesthetic phenomenon of adornment indicates a point within sociological interaction - the arena of man's being-for-himself and being-for-the-other - where these two opposite directions are mutually dependent as ends and means" (Simmel, 81). For the purposes of my experiment, adornment refers to the act of creating and curating my online presence on Etsy, specifically my treasury. Since my presence on Etsy was not, of course, the same as being out in the real world, Simmel's terms will have to be tailored to the virtual world.

On Etsy, as on any other online community, Hannah Arendt's notion that "appearance constitutes reality" (7) is even more true than it is in real life. Appearance is literally everything online, and so appearance is everything on Etsy. Especially in my case, since I was neither buyer nor seller and was formulating my ersatz Etsy persona out of thin air. In order for the experiment to work, I needed other Etsy users to view me as a legitimate member, one who was participating meaningfully in the Etsy community for purposes other than my real purpose, research.

Etsy's "space of appearance," to use Arendt's term, is varied and ever-changing . That's part of why I found Etsy so confusing at first - there are so many options and ways to participate and interact with other Etsy users that the space of appearance is overwhelming. I kept thinking that those who build a strong presence on the site must have to devote large portions of their time and energy to doing so. The Etsy space of appearance is also (I found) extremely friendly and non-judgmental, in keeping with the site's DIY ethos. If you put in the time, I can see how Etsy would be a rewarding place for buyers, sellers, and even people like me who just want to participate.

However, Etsy's usability is inscrutable at first, and is not intuitive like real-life interaction even though it mirrors real-life interaction, specifically that of shopping (in a market, vintage store, etc). The tug between "being-for-himself and being-for-the-other" (Simmel, 81) is especially strong on Etsy, as it's similar to the difference between being a buyer and being a seller. Etsy, then, takes the theatrics of everyday interaction and systemizes them; by putting the process of buying, advertising and selling online, Etsy lays bare the processes behind the way we choose to curate our social presences.

Works Cited:

Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1958.

Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Double Day, 1959.

Simmel, Georg. "Adornment." In The Rise of Fashion. Edited by Daniel Leonhard Purdy. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. 1908 (1997).