Your joy matters. Your authentic self matters. And sometimes, reclaiming both starts with something as simple as what you choose to wear in the morning.
I was sorting through my closet last weekend when I pulled out a blazer I used to wear constantly during my finance days. Navy blue, perfectly tailored, expensive. I hadn't touched it in three years.
What struck me wasn't the blazer itself, but what I remembered about the person who wore it. She dressed for armor, not expression. Every morning was about creating a professional shell, not reflecting what was actually happening inside.
That's when it hit me: our wardrobes often tell the story of our inner world before we're ready to say the words out loud.
When joy quietly slips away, it doesn't always announce itself with tears or dramatic declarations. Sometimes it shows up in the clothes we reach for, the colors we avoid, the comfort we desperately seek or completely abandon.
If you've noticed your relationship with getting dressed has shifted, you're not imagining things. Here are seven subtle wardrobe changes that often signal something deeper is going on.
1) Everything becomes a uniform
Remember when you used to think about what you were going to wear? When getting dressed involved some level of creativity or self-expression?
When joy fades, many women default to a rigid uniform. The same jeans and t-shirt. The same safe dress. The same black pants and neutral top combination, day after day after day.
This isn't about developing a signature style or capsule wardrobe. Those choices come from intentionality and confidence. This is different. It's about eliminating decisions because you simply don't have the emotional bandwidth to care.
During my worst burnout period at 38, I wore the same rotation of three outfits for months. My closet was full of clothes, but I couldn't access the part of myself that cared about variety or expression. Getting dressed became purely functional, stripped of any joy or creativity.
The uniform becomes a way to conserve energy when your internal reserves are running on empty.
2) Color disappears from your closet
Have you noticed yourself gravitating toward black, gray, navy, and beige? When was the last time you wore something bright or vibrant?
Color often retreats when joy does. It's not that you consciously decide to stop wearing color. You just find yourself reaching past the coral sweater and the teal dress, choosing the charcoal cardigan instead.
There's actually something to this. Our clothing choices reflect our internal emotional landscape. When we're struggling, we often unconsciously choose to blend in rather than stand out, to disappear rather than be seen.
If your closet has become a sea of neutrals when it used to be more varied, it might be worth asking what else has become muted in your life.
3) Comfort becomes the only priority
There's a difference between dressing comfortably and using comfort as emotional insulation.
When joy quietly leaves, many women abandon anything with structure, opting exclusively for loose, soft, shapeless clothing. Everything becomes oversized hoodies, elastic waistbands, and fabric that doesn't touch the body.
This isn't about rejecting uncomfortable fashion or embracing athleisure. It's about using clothes as a buffer between yourself and the world. When you're hurting, tight jeans or a fitted blazer can feel like too much pressure, too much demand to show up as someone you're not currently feeling like.
Your body might be asking for gentleness, and that's okay. Just make sure you're also asking why that need has become so constant and so urgent.
4) You stop replacing worn-out items
Here's a subtle one: you keep wearing clothes that are past their prime.
The sweater with holes in the sleeves. The jeans that don't fit quite right anymore. The shoes that hurt your feet but you wear them anyway. The bra with broken underwire that you just keep adjusting throughout the day.
When we've lost our joy, we often stop feeling worthy of investment, even small ones. Buying new clothes requires believing you deserve them, that your comfort and presentation matter, that you're worth the time and money.
During my financial transition, I watched my running shoes literally fall apart before I replaced them. It wasn't really about the money. It was about not feeling like I deserved new ones when I wasn't "producing" at my old level. My self-worth had become so tied to external achievement that basic self-care felt indulgent.
If you're tolerating discomfort and shabbiness when you have the means to address it, ask yourself what belief is actually keeping you in those worn-out clothes.
5) Shopping becomes either compulsive or completely stops
Loss of joy often shows up in extremes with shopping behavior.
Some women start buying clothes compulsively, searching for something that will finally make them feel better. The packages arrive, the tags stay on, the items hang unworn. It's not really about the clothes. It's about trying to fill an internal void with external things.
Others go the opposite direction and completely stop shopping. Not because they don't need anything, but because they can't muster the energy, interest, or hope required to imagine a future self who would wear new clothes.
Both extremes are ways of disconnecting from yourself. One is attempting to shop your way back to feeling good. The other is giving up on the idea that anything, including clothes, could make a difference.
6) You dress for invisibility rather than appropriateness
This one is subtle but significant. You start choosing outfits based on how little attention they'll attract rather than what's actually appropriate or what you actually like.
You're not dressing for the occasion or for yourself. You're dressing to not be noticed, to not be asked questions, to not have to explain or engage or be perceived.
At work events during my later finance years, I dressed specifically to blend into the background. Not because the dress code required it, but because I didn't want anyone to really see me. Being truly seen felt too vulnerable when I was barely holding it together inside.
This is different from dressing professionally or modestly. This is about using clothing as camouflage for an authentic self you no longer have access to or no longer trust others to see.
When getting dressed becomes primarily about hiding rather than expressing, something has shifted in how safe you feel being yourself.
I've mentioned this book before, but Rudá Iandê's Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life helped me understand this pattern in myself. His insights about how we wear masks to fit societal expectations really landed for me.
He writes that "most of us don't even know who we truly are. We wear masks so often, mold ourselves so thoroughly to fit societal expectations, that our real selves become a distant memory."
Reading that made me realize my wardrobe had become just another mask. The book inspired me to start asking myself what I was really hiding from and whether the invisibility I was choosing was actually protecting me or just keeping me stuck.
7) Nothing feels right anymore
Perhaps the most telling sign: you stand in front of a full closet and feel like you have nothing to wear. Not because you actually lack options, but because nothing feels like you anymore.
You try on outfit after outfit and nothing lands. Everything feels wrong, uncomfortable, like you're wearing someone else's clothes. Because in a way, you are. You're trying to dress a version of yourself that doesn't exist right now.
This was my experience before leaving my corporate job. I'd try on the professional clothes that used to make me feel confident and capable, and I'd feel like I was playing dress-up. Those clothes belonged to someone I used to be, someone I wasn't sure I wanted to be anymore.
When nothing in your wardrobe feels authentic, it's often because you're in transition. The old version of you is fading, but the new version hasn't fully emerged yet. Your clothes don't fit because your identity doesn't fit.
Final thoughts
Your wardrobe is more than fabric and thread. It's a daily conversation between who you are and how you present yourself to the world.
When that conversation becomes strained or goes silent, when getting dressed feels heavy or meaningless, it's worth paying attention. These aren't just wardrobe changes. They're signals that something deeper needs your attention.
The good news? Noticing is the first step. You can't address what you don't acknowledge.
And here's something I learned through my own transition: sometimes giving yourself permission to dress differently, to honor where you actually are rather than where you think you should be, creates space for something new to emerge.
Maybe that means embracing the comfort clothes while you heal. Maybe it means experimenting with color again when you're ready. Maybe it means clearing out the clothes that belong to a former version of you and starting fresh.
There's no right way to dress through difficult seasons. But there is value in being honest with yourself about what your choices are revealing.
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