Would I Still Wear This If No One Saw It?

Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in a window reflection and think, “Would I have worn this if I knew no one would see it?” Not in a dramatic, existential way—just in that low-key, post-Instagram era kind of way where the line between personal style and public style feels… blurry.

When Did Getting Dressed Get So Public?

I remember when picking an outfit was just about mood (and maybe the weather, if I was feeling practical). Now, it’s like there’s a tiny, invisible audience in my head, silently voting on every shoe choice. And I’m not even an influencer—I just have a camera roll full of “maybe” selfies and a mild addiction to saving other people’s outfits.

There are days I genuinely dress for myself: the softest sweater, jeans that fit just right, sneakers that feel like clouds. But then there are days when it’s less about comfort and more about the potential for a good mirror selfie—like, “Would this look cool if I accidentally ran into someone from high school?” (Spoiler: the odds of me running into anyone from high school are basically zero now that I’ve moved countries, and if it ever happens, it’ll be at the one Indian grocery store in town!)

The Instagram Outfit Illusion

Here’s the thing: Instagram has absolutely made me more experimental. I’ve tried layering shirts in ways that would make my mom question my sanity, worn socks with sandals (don’t judge), and once attempted a scarf as a belt. Sometimes it’s fun! Sometimes it’s just… itchy. But there’s this weird sense that if an outfit isn’t at least a little “different,” it’s wasted. Like, if it didn’t make it to the feed, did it even happen?

But the funny part is, half the time my favorite outfits never get photographed. They’re the ones I wear to run errands or to my local coffee shop, when I’m not thinking about angles or captions. They’re not always groundbreaking, but they feel like me—and isn’t that the whole point?

Dressing for Likes vs. Dressing for Life

I once wore a fitted lilac top with a lilac-based floral mini skirt out for coffee, fully expecting to feel like a Pinterest board come to life. Instead, I spent most of the afternoon wondering if I looked like an overgrown bouquet. And honestly, I couldn’t wait to get home and change into my favorite soft joggers. Meanwhile, my most-loved outfit lately is a pair of old Levi’s, a white tee, and a yellow puffer—zero wow factor, but I felt like myself all day.

I guess the question is: can you really separate “dressing for yourself” from “dressing for the feed” anymore? Or are we all just a little bit of both, picking and choosing when to lean in?

My Accidental Style Resets

Last month turned out to be an accidental month off Instagram? It was kind of freeing. I found myself reaching for the things I genuinely love, not just the things I thought might get a reaction. It felt like a style palate cleanser for my closet.

Maybe the trick is to treat Instagram like a scrapbook, not a scoreboard. Document the outfits that make you feel good—even if they’re not “on trend.” Or don’t document them at all. (Radical, I know.)

The Takeaway (If There Is One)

I’m not about to quit Instagram, and I’ll probably still overthink what I wear to brunch. But I’m trying to remind myself that the best outfits are the ones that feel like me—even if they never make it to the feed.

And if you ever spot me in that lilac skirt again, just know: it’s for the vibes, not the likes.