Euphoric & Etheral
On gender, personal style, and healing
Hi, green beans. Thanks for reading Healing Field Notes, a newsletter I send out twice a month. This newsletter will always be a free offering. However, consider a paid subscription if you’d like to support my writing.
My love for fashion can be traced back to going back-to-school shopping with my grandmother in middle school. Something to know about my grandmother is that she was a “bougie,” old woman with impeccable taste. A memory that is seared into my brain is once, we were going shoe shopping at a Famous Footwear and I had shown up to this once-a-year shopping spree in Old Navy flip flops and unpainted, unkempt toenails. She said in her southern Oklahoman accent, “If you are going to wear your toes out, they outta be dressed.” This was the day I had my first pedicure.
The way my grandmother showed me love was through shopping. I only saw her once a year and it was always the most stressful time of year because I had to tuck away my personality, pick out my best thrift store outfit, and pretend to be the blonde, well-behaved girl she wanted me to be.
In the 7th grade, I was deep in my emo era and dyed my hair black. She came to visit shortly after and forced me into a salon chair where I proceeded to spend 6 hours getting each strand stripped back to its original blonde state. The next day, we went to Dillards and she picked out dresses and Bermuda shorts that weren’t too short or too revealing and in the bright colors that I strictly said I hated.
While I hold a lot of resentment towards her that she forced a personality on me that I never asked for, later in life, I came to appreciate the little things I had picked up about fashion from her. It’s because of her I have a love of linen. She was the first person who took me to an antique mall and let me pick out a vintage ring I liked which would spark a lifetime of treasure hunting.
When she would come to visit, she would always rent rooms at the Holiday Inn as my little escape from the yellow, cigarette-stained walls of my parent’s apartment. At the end of the day, we’d go to our respective rooms and I’d turn on hotel cable and watch Say Yes to the Dress. I never dreamt much of my wedding, but I’d find myself falling asleep to moms and bridesmaids cheering on each bride while they searched for the dress that was the one.
When I began dreaming about what I wanted to wear the day I got married, the idea of trying on wedding dresses seemed appealing at first. I don’t shy away from femme clothes and all of that Say Yes to the Dress was playing on repeat in the back of my mind. But as time went on, I became fearful of the misgendering that would ensue as I walked into the stores. Bride, ma’am, and girl loomed over me. And to be honest, I just don’t know if I'm the gown type.
I could never have named that what I was feeling in middle school was dysphoria. I just didn’t have the language for it. When I reflect on all of the clothes I was given to try on, all I can remember is the feeling of discomfort as I tried to fit into a version of myself that someone else had conjured for me. My grandmother often came into town when it was time to shop for a dress for a school dance. I remember once, I told her that I wished I could wear pants and she scoffed at the suggestion.
When it comes to picking clothes, comfort is my top priority. As someone with chronic pain, I like to be reminded of my body as least as possible. This means I am drawn to breathable fabrics, own pants with elastic waistbands, and haven’t worn an underwire bra in years. When it comes to my gender, I could say the same is true in that I want to think about my gender as least as possible.
I think a lot of people think of non-binary as “not-woman” or “not-feminine.” This isn’t true for me. My gender, as I wrote once in a poem, is yes, and. But sometimes, it is not at all. I feel most euphoric when I don’t feel feminine or masculine, or depending on the day, when I feel both.
When it came to collaborating with Sav to design my wedding outfit, I knew an elastic waistband was a must, I wanted a tank top where my cute, floral back tattoos would peek out, and I wanted a sheer element to help me embody the ethereal, romantic being I wanted to feel like on my wedding day.
My wedding day was the calmest I’ve maybe ever been. Most people talk of big nerves and cold feet, but I felt ease and bliss. My wedding was the culmination of me making choices that honored me, my life, boundaries, and the family that I had built for myself. No one was trying to force me into a dress that didn’t feel good, I didn’t invite people that I didn’t want there out of “obligation”, and I made authentic choices that were carried out by the most thoughtful and talented planner.
My outfit was no different. To have it designed in collaboration with a fellow non-binary human who specifically creates custom, gender-neutral clothing meant that I felt seen, felt heard in my decisions, and they understood what it meant to find euphoria in an outfit. This is the affirmation and safety everyone deserves.
While I carry a lot of frustration around all the ways I’ve had to hide parts of myself or had to contort my style to fit into someone else’s vision of who I should be, it feels empowering to name the times I feel most euphoric, most comfortable, are when I don't have to question the decisions I’ve made because I know they are the ones that I made for myself. I feel most euphoric when I am making decisions about my clothes that are based on how I want to feel, rather than how I want to be perceived, which is a privilege I do not take for granted.
It’s true that perception is something I cannot control, especially as someone who presents overwhelmingly femme. Misgendering is something I often dismiss because it’s easier than correcting or having the conversation every time I meet someone new. But when I get dressed in the morning, or on my wedding day, I know I am dressing for me. I know what makes me feel comfortable. And those who see me as the ethereal, tender, non-binary gremlin I am? My 7th-grade-self thanks you and needs you more than you know.
Check out this 2-day virtual writing workshop taught by Ariana Brown.
Everyone needs to read this newsletter.
This essay, How To Want Less, was enjoyable.
Read Coming Out as Nonbinary Helped Me Understand My Attraction to Men.
I saw a TikTok that said our mother’s vagal tone impacts ours and so, naturally, I’ve been reading a lot of research about it.
This TikTok is the inner dialogue I’ve inherited for my own emotional regulation and it’s been helpful.
I’m taking a little break from the mini-podcast this month because I’ve been having a pretty big pain flare-up and want to prioritize rest. The good news for YOU is that you have more time to submit some questions! You can submit questions here.
If you have made it this far, THANK YOU. I’m so glad you are here. If you have enjoyed this newsletter and want to support me you can:
Forward this email to a friend you think would enjoy it
Venmo me a one-time donation at @samslupski (15% of donations will be redistributed to mutual aid funds and/or local grassroots organizations)
Share a snippet on social media
Hire me to write for you
Thanks for sticking around.
Love,
