How the PNW changed the way I dress
A reflection on my personal style evolution
Before I moved to Portland, I had lived in mountain towns for most of my adult life. First Boulder, then Flagstaff. My wardrobe followed a familiar formula: puffy jacket, some sort of shirt, leggings, Blundstones or Chacos/Tevas/Bedrocks, and a beanie in the winter or trucker hat in the summer. There was nothing wrong with the way I dressed; it made sense for my lifestyle. I was hiking, running, biking, rock climbing, snowboarding, and visiting breweries with friends multiple times a week. When I worked at the newspaper, I’d change out of my (probably polyester) dress pants and shirt and into the comfort of my outdoor uniform. When I worked at an outdoor magazine, the outdoor uniform was acceptable. Mountain town Amelia was who I was and felt most comfortable being.
During the pandemic, things changed. I was still living in Flagstaff, and therefore doing all the same activities, but I started experimenting with the way I dressed. Like many of us, I was bored of not wearing real clothes and had stimulus checks to burn. It became a newfound creative outlet. I subscribed to clothing rental services like Nuuly, collected vintage and secondhand pieces, and learned to sew garments. I’d try on a new outfit and see how it made me feel. Fancy or feminine or sporty or tomboy. Or sometimes uncomfortable or claustrophobic or exposed or frumpy. Knowing so few people there, I could test a trend, like wide-legged pants—GASP!—without caring too much about what they might think of me.
Moving to Portland only deepened my interest in personal style as a kind of ongoing experiment. People here don’t only wear flannels and trucker caps—I’d liken that more to Colorado style. They wear chains on their belt loops and shiny shoes and cycling jerseys and sometimes all three together, intentionally and unironically. (Okay fine, sometimes ironically.) Living here, I’ve absorbed a few of the PNW’s most recognizable style codes—the teeny beanie, the chore coat—like I’m a disheveled dad on his way to an indie rock show. Sometimes I am on my way to an indie rock show. As my lifestyle has shifted, so have my tastes. Instead of only identifying with my mountain self, I lean into my love of music, art, architecture, design—all my other identities. Lately, I’ve been pulling from sportswear and the restrained utility of Scandinavian and Japanese design.
Looking back at photos to use for this post, I cringed at some of my recent decisions. What was I thinking wearing that?! But what’s fun about style is its impermanence. You can always change your mind—or your jacket!
Here are 5 ways living in Portland has influenced what I wear and the way I think about getting dressed.
1. My jacket and sweater collection has exploded
A year into living in Portland, I told a friend that I only owned one or two sweaters. “What do you wear in the winter then?!” she asked me, aghast. Granted, she’s from Maine and is very at home in cable knit. I think I would just wear a long sleeve under a puffy jacket or rain shell. I can’t even remember anymore because I don’t know myself as a woman with only one or two sweaters. They are tumbling off the top shelf of my closet, and my coats are spread across two closets.
My foolproof formula: sweater + coat/jacket + big pants + beanie + accessories
2. I’m always ready for rain
In winter, I choose my footwear carefully. Leather and suede will get ruined instantly, even in a drizzle. Mud freckles the toes. Water leaks into my loafers. So from November to March, I’m wearing waterproof boots or shoes I don’t care about getting wet. As soon as it dries out, I’m dusting off my white Gazelles.
You’d think that living in a rainy place, I’d wear my rain shells more than I do. But instead, I’m layering more intentionally and choosing materials that dry quickly. Unless I’m out running, in which case getting drenched is unavoidable (which I also love in the right scenario), I’m usually dashing between my car and a café, not strolling Division with abandon. Once inside, I take off the outer layer and let it dry. Whatever is underneath is cozy and considered—an outfit that can stand on its own in case the clouds part and I don’t need the jacket anymore. Like the other day, I wore a cotton ribbed long sleeve underneath a silk short-sleeved button up.
3. Earth tones make up my closet
I bought a pair of bubblegum pink Le Bon Shoppe Arc Pants. They fit like a dream. And then I never wore them. Fun color but the color didn’t realistically fit with everything else I wear. I swapped the pink for a black pair because I’m more drawn to neutrals, blues, greens, and cool tones—with the exception of red and pale yellow. If I ever wear pink that bright again, it will be in a smaller dose, not my entire bottom half. This hasn’t changed toooooo much from when I lived in mountain towns; I’m just more aware of how everything fits together.
4. I’m more willing to experiment
Whenever I feel shy about wearing something out of the house, I’m reminded that there’s always going to be someone dressed way weirder. While I’m over here fretting about someone judging me for my totally normie outfit, there’s a guy walking by in a full trench coat and go-go boots. Good for him! That’s the confidence I want to evoke. The full range of personal style here challenges me to experiment. If it doesn’t feel right, I can always wear something new the next day.
5. Outdoor gear still appears, but not as obviously
As I’ve loosened my definition of what it means to be quote-unquote outdoorsy, I’ve integrated the gear I once reserve for hiking and climbing and sports into my daily rotation. If it’s good enough for scaling rocks, it’s plenty sufficient for walking the dog at the park. More and more, I’m testing and investing in gear that’s suitable for all applications. I wear my Gramicci Voyager Pants with a workout tank to climbing on Tuesdays, and I wear them with a dressy top out to drinks. I wear my tennis dress to drills classes, and I wear it with a cardigan and flats to date night.
Right now, as I sit in an aisle seat in the sky, I have on my KEEN x Snow Peak Hyperports (comfy for walking) and an iridescent velvet jacquard coat by LA’s Elowen Collection (warm and fancy). Nobody can tell me they don’t go together.
we do love a beanie