The Devil Abhorred Prada

The simple things become incredibly monumental and significant to you when your access to them is removed. I’m rotating my wardrobe this evening and planning my work outfit for tomorrow, and found myself experiencing gratitude to be able to do something as basic as this. No consequence. No retaliation. Just sorting my clothing and putting together tomorrow’s look. There were days when this wouldn’t have been such an easy or mindless task. 

My ex, as I’m sure you can gauge, was controlling in numerous ways and across all aspects of my life. One of the most mentally and emotionally damaging ways was the control he had over my image; the way I looked, the way I dressed, and how I put myself together. He would say mean and hurtful things if he didn’t like how I looked or if he preferred me to look in a way that drew less attention to myself. I reflect on many of these instances and recognize that some tactics were to make sure I looked less appealing or homely. There were times that it was evident that he wanted my figure hidden and that he wanted me to present in a way that would make other men less inclined to give me a second look or pay me any attention. To be clear, I dress for myself first and foremost but in knowing what’s flattering for me or what’s stylish, often times that will come with attention. Simple as that. 

I recall a time when I needed to get a semi-formal dress for a family gathering which we were both invited to. I needed something on the classier side and we’d ended up at Banana Republic. I found a simple yet elegant, A-line, fifties style dress with a cross strap detailing across the chest. I knew my size very well as I’ve lived in my body my whole life and working as a model requires you to know such things, so I grabbed what I knew to be my size at that time. I remember being in the fitting room and stepping out to show him how the dress looked. It fit well and looked tailored to me which the fitting room attendant confirmed when she came over to see how things were going. The only unimpressed party was my ex. He immediately had a scowl on his face and kept shaking his head saying ‘No, no, you need a bigger size,’ and then proceeded to insist that the fitting room attendant grab me the two next sizes up. When I came out the second time, I was swimming in the dress. It was loose in the waist, the straps were slightly baggy, and the hemline wasn’t hitting my leg correctly. Everything about the fit was wrong. Again the fitting room attendant and I were aligned in our opinions but my ex shut us both down and said this was the size we were taking before ushering me back into my stall to change and rushing me to the register. To make this scenario even more uncomfortable, he’d claimed at the beginning of this shopping trip he’d purchase the dress since I’d just been fired from my job. I was prepared to let him continue taking the reins on this excursion, only to get up to the register and have him tell me to pay before walking away when the cashier was ready for tender. Absolutely mortifying and I remember feeling sick to my stomach knowing this dress was not in my budget considering my current employment status. 

There were many times like this when my ex would criticize what I was wearing and make comments aimed at annihilating my self esteem so that I’d change and be more inclined to mask my silhouette. During this period, bandage dresses a la Herve Leger and Bebe dupes were trending and I initially had quite a few in my wardrobe. My equation for going out was a good Bebe bandage dress and a new pair of Steve Madden pumps to complete the look. I remember one night when we were discussing plans for another outing and unsolicited, he turned to me and he said ‘I don’t know why you wear those bandage dresses. They don’t even look good on you. Your figure’s not made for that.’ I was devastated and immediately felt highly self-conscious and ugly. From this point all I began seeing in myself was flaws and it caused me to develop an incredible body dysmorphia that I still grapple with to this day.  After that exchange, I remember packaging up my bandage dresses and they stayed stored away in my closet, unseen and unworn until the trend passed. 

Verbal assaults aimed at controlling what I wore was only one tactic he would utilize. Aside from the Banana Republic instance, the Bebe discussion, or blatantly telling me something like open toed shoes was disgusting and not classy to him, he would hide or steal items of clothing or shoes from me. The best way I can describe this era is by calling it the Bo$$y era. Kelis had cut all of her hair off and super high waisted and semi corseted pants and skirts were in. I had an Arden B. high waisted denim pencil skirt that had a corset waist detail with buttons that enclosed the corset part. My ex absolutely hated this article of clothing and every time he would come to my house, he’d make it a point to call that fact out when he felt like going through my things and making his way to the closet. On one occasion, he turned to me and said ‘Why the fuck do you have this? This shit is so ugly!’ He then proceeded to rip it out of my closet and hold it above his head so I couldn’t reach it as we tussled for control of the garment. To note – dude was about 6’5” and I’m only 5’4” (don’t tell my agency). Me trying to recover the skirt was a futile effort and I had to give up. He continued to hold the skirt up and told me that he was going to take it home with him and hide it where I could never find it. What he actually did was bury it in the back of my closet amongst odds and ends I had stored from childhood and high school. By the time I found the skirt, I was not interested in keeping it because it harbored such a traumatic exchange. 

These are only a few instances in which my ex took it upon himself to regulate my wardrobe and how I expressed myself through fashion. There’s a pair of BCBG wedge heels that I dearly loved but I had to discard because he left me with only the right shoe like I was Cinderella. They’re another example of an article of clothing he hated and went out of his way to prevent me from wearing. For years, I had a single wedge waiting to be reunited with its mate. I never found the other shoe and I firmly believe that he didn’t just hide or take the shoe but he probably threw it away. Aside from the audacity to edit my wardrobe and so cruelly criticize me, my ex destroyed and damaged things my hard earned money went to pay for. If you are of the Y2K era, you know at that time Bebe, Arden B., BCBG, etc. were not cheap items to come by. I deeply resented him for his efforts to destroy my wardrobe but I didn’t dare undermine him because the consequences stood to be worse than the original ridicule or confrontation. 

I’m grateful that in my current reality I get to be the only curating and editing my closet/wardrobe. I buy what I like. I wear what I like and I don’t shy away from moments when I want to experiment or embrace the range that fashion can give you in terms of self expression. However, I acknowledge that the residual body dysmorphia has been hellacious to deal with and I’m still in a place in which I’m learning to love my body and celebrate what I look like. 

Healing for me means exercising a daily appreciation for the little moments I took for granted in my late teens that got taken from me when I entered into my twenties. It also means cheersing to the little victories I still feel when I can pick out a fly outfit, look myself in the mirror, and not only be okay with but love the woman that’s looking back at me. She’s survived a lot and she deserves all the flowers and shoes she wants. 

With alofa – Tati