Postpartum Style Story — Chapter 2: The Lion, The Witch, and the Chairdrobe

Recounting my first year of motherhood, narrated through the clothes I wore. Part 2/5.

Welcome to the second instalment of Postpartum Style Story: a 5-part series on how I approached dressing as a first-time mom.

Part 1

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We’re getting into peak fall. The maples outside our building have turned a fiery red and rendered the sidewalks crunchy with discarded leaves. The baby, too, is quickly transforming — from an organism with the awareness level of a houseplant into something much more human-like, who gifts us with smiles, tempers, and hilarious jerky movements we were never quick enough to capture on video.

Things weren’t easy — there was the chaos of adjusting to solo-parenting during the day, the frequent gassiness, the poop strikes, and plenty of nightly wake-ups. But there seemed to be slightly more predictability to the day, a little more structure and, dare I say, some breathing room. I felt like I was finally getting into the groove of caring for a baby — however fleeting that sense of having things under control may have been.

We ventured into more adventurous territory: took longer walks outside the safe, well-trodden perimeter of our immediate neighbourhood, dined at restaurants on the weekend, visited galleries and museums with her snoozing in the carrier. I certainly had more freedom to do and wear what I wanted during this period, in contrast to the child-oriented itineraries I now adhere to. With all the leisurely autumn strolls I was taking and the Substack newsletters I devoured while nap-trapped, my errant thoughts started drifting back to clothes again.

Now that my body was feeling somewhat like my own and I felt more comfortable handling my floppy-necked child in public, I was eager to get outside as much as possible before the cold set in. I began dressing more intentionally when I left the house — a mere trip to the grocery store was treated as an occasion to wear something nice(ish). Practicality and comfort were still at the helm of every outfit decision, but I was finding my way back to the clothes that made me feel attractive, while expressing my style point of view.

It felt amazing to return to some of the more generously-sized “hard pants” from that cherished corner of my wardrobe, like the Naked and Famous grey twill trousers I’ve been rocking since 2020. As more of my closet became available to me, I was also embracing the layering that cooler weather afforded, rediscovering myself in the signature shirts and jackets I’ve had for years. And with newborn spit-up being a relatively harmless enemy compared to ones I’m up against today (e.g., mud, grease, a spoonful of tomato soup backhanded towards my face), I wasn’t putting away my silks just yet.

A sample chair capsule, plus outerwear and footwear options. Note: that black-and-white print shirt is my fashion version of those high contrast cards for babies.

Beyond functionality, my style priorities then were ease and confidence.

Dressing well in the laziest way possible meant leaning into formula and repetition. No stranger to personal uniforms, I found myself adopting a familiar, but mom-friendly combination of nursing camisole + button up shirt + hardwearing pants, finished off with weather-appropriate outerwear and slip-on shoes when leaving the home. Outfit repeating was also a necessity. My window to get changed each day was usually brief; I felt like a Rupaul’s Drag Race contestant rushing into their “quick drag” in my hastiness. The computer chair at my dust-gathering work desk became a full fledged “chairdrobe”, always piled with an active roster of ready-to-go pieces. Thus the Rule of 2 was born:

At some point in the months following becoming a mother, I realized I’d adopted a capsule-ish pattern of dressing involving combinations of twos. Two bottoms, two tops, two layerable shirts — and generate!

The sets of twos, sitting in an unfolded heap atop my dresser [or chair], are the only items I’ll wear for a decent chunk of time — we’re talking a week minimum — before a cycle of laundry is due and fresh pieces are swapped in.

Confidence was an entirely different beast. First, I was adjusting to a body that felt drastically different from the one I’d inhabited for most of my life. I had come out the other side of pregnancy with a handful of loose skin, some extra pounds, slightly larger feet, and boobs galore. These things are all super normal and didn’t make me feel insecure per se, but it took some time to recognize and accept my new reflection as me. Then there was the matter of feeling confident in my new role as mom — still a work in progress. Projecting togetherness via my clothes, even when I was a tangled ball of anxiety on the inside, undoubtedly had a positive effect on my mental health, helping me push through the tough days.

Around this time, I took myself on a shopping date to a local boutique. I didn’t come away with any purchases that day, but seeing myself in structured pants that fit and flattered was affirming. Later on, I used the intel I’d gathered on sizing and proportions to treat myself to a pair of beautifully-made pleated indigo jeans from YMC. These slouchy, wide leg pants made me feel great in my postpartum body, and were as practical as the Lululemon joggers I felt blah in, but kept reaching for.

1) A pre-nap bounce-a-thon in my building’s yoga room. 2) Fit pic from a cafe bathroom, likely post diaper change. 3) Attending a holiday party in my festive red shirt, a burp cloth at the ready.

More or less, I was dressing like how I used to, pre-baby — albeit sloppier, with less variation. Back when I religiously kept a visual record of my outfits worn, it would sometimes bother me to look back upon blocks where I wore the same pieces, or entire looks, day after day. Now, I completely embraced the monotony. Working with these micro, chair-based capsules gave me the framework to dress well enough, without further frazzling my decision-fatigued brain. In the midst of those rapidly changing first few months, I found wearing a small rotation of reliable outfits to be a welcome source of constancy.