I think I was about twelve when I stopped dressing for myself.

I don’t remember which boy specifically I wanted to impress at that age, but by fourteen, it was my boyfriend, Josh. Getting dressed meant strategizing— an outfit that screamed I woke up like this while concealing the meticulous planning. The neckline had to be low enough to hint at something but not so low that it triggered a dress code violation. Hair? Worn down, of course. The test came between classes, in those fleeting moments when our schedules aligned. If I played my cards right, he’d see me in my carefully orchestrated effortlessness without ever showing my hand.

Now I’m twenty-nine and come to a crossroads in the morning. There are two distinct paths: wear something comfortable, or wear something that, should I run into my future husband on the street, would make him immediately ask me out. The latter usually consists of a masochistic ensemble involving tight clothes, uncomfortable shoes, a blowout, “no-makeup” makeup, and a neutral manicure in that cool-girl-but-still-datable pink that somehow cost me 50€ and an hour of my time. On a recent morning, I was dabbing on concealer, spritzing perfume, and debating between gold or silver hoops for the gym. Yes, the gym, where I would be sweating and hoop earrings could very likely result in a minor injury. Yet here I was, like my fourteen-year-old self, subconsciously dressing for someone else.

“The essential purpose of decoration is to beautify the bodily appearance, so as to attract the admiring glances of others and fortify one's self-esteem.”

– Flugel, J.C. (1930/50) The Psychology of Clothes London: Hogarth Press, p. 20

Pacteau, in The Symptom of Beauty, suggests that beauty is an obsession, a mirror-stage fantasy of self-creation that’s always entangled with the desire of the other. It’s not just about being seen. It’s about constructing an ideal self for us and not for us simultaneously. Entwistle, echoes this her her scholarship The Fashioned Body. Referencing Freud, she explains how clothing, beauty, and the body itself are inherently erotic, socially and sexually charged. Boys are taught to look. Girls are taught to be looked at. A silent contract is signed. No one really questions it.

Sable Young, in Die Hot With a Vengeance, asks the question I keep circling: What does beauty even mean when it’s on your own terms? The answer, she argues, is that it rarely is. Feminine beauty still exists within the constraints of thinness, youth, and the inescapable male gaze. Stray too far from convention, and you risk losing desirability. Fall too far into convention, and you lose yourself, which is where I may have found myself at twenty-nine. I don’t know how to express my personal style because I have spent my entire life dressing for an audience. My act is a tightrope walk between comfort and performance, rebellion and submission, that I can never seem to get right.

But here’s the thing—this isn’t a sob story. If anything, the time I spent in front of the mirror (whether it was self-exploration or self-destruction is still up for debate) led me somewhere unexpected: makeup. By my late teens and early 20s, makeup had become my ultimate form of self-expression. I was nineteen, rolling up to class with fuchsia liquid lipstick, graphic liner, and smokey eyes—zero concern for looking effortless or natural (R.I.P. @juleezzbeauty).

My looks weren’t about being “pretty” in the way we’re taught to be pretty. They showed effort, and people noticed. I got compliments, I booked student photoshoots, I started doing other people’s makeup, and most importantly, I built a career in the beauty industry. The same industry that thrives on capitalism-fueled insecurity, but also one that fosters deep relationships between women. The beautiful thing about beauty is that we can take back the narrative. Sure, dress, beauty, and decoration are rooted in attention, but we have the power to use them for something else: creativity, connection, self-reinvention.

Will we ever live in a world where women can express themselves freely without ridicule, harassment, or hate? Where we aren’t constantly navigating an ever-shifting set of rules dictated by forces outside of ourselves? Honestly, I don’t know. But what I do know is that asking these questions—especially as someone who works in beauty, someone who knowingly feeds the machine that made me this way—matters. Even if I still wear hoops to the gym.

A creative mind and design professional, Julia is an Art Director, Senior Graphic Designer, Beauty Enthusiast, and a Master's Student in Global Communications. This blog is an extension of her multi-faceted journey, offering a space to explore the intersections of design, beauty, culture, and lifestyle

What Would Freud Think If He Saw Me Wearing Makeup to the Gym?

I think I was about twelve when I stopped dressing for myself.

“The essential purpose of decoration is to beautify the bodily appearance, so as to attract the admiring glances of others and fortify one's self-esteem.”