You're Unique, Just Like Everyone Else

Uniformity can be convenient: it keeps the schoolchildren passively un-individuated, helps you find or avoid the cops, and visually distinguishes meter-readers from axe murderers knocking at your door.

Truthfully, I used to long for school uniforms. They would have allowed me to avoid so many problems: how to afford guess jeans, how to tuck or not tuck in my shirt, how to out on three pairs of brightly colored slouchy socks in alternating order (shit... does it go melon/fuschia/mint, or mint/melon/fuschia?) I've often associated fashion with the mean, clever people in your social circle you wish you didn't like. They're just available enough to make you long for more. Better, I've often thought, to put on a navy cardigan and be done with it.

Uniformity is also useful for adding an exciting twist to your cult suicide event (everyone wear black nikes and get a short haircut! the media will LOVE IT!) or dictatorship.

As it turns out, I think there's actually a crisp distinction between UNIFORMS (comforting, sexy?, mysterious, weighted with symbolism) and MATCHING OUTFITS (stupid, vulnerable, hilarious, funfunfun!).

But some things that I love live in the gloriously ill-defined space between the two.

Girl Groups (specifically., the Marvelettes)


Cult Members (specifically, Rajneeshees)

Bridesmaids (specifically, someone I wish I was related to)

Celebrity Twins (specifically, Alice and Ellen Kessler)