Bernard O'Shea: Dressing well isn't about what others think - I do it for me

The link between dressing well and mental health.

Bernard O'Shea. Photograph Moya Nolan

As a writer and comedian, I've spent most of my career working remotely, often clad in the comfiest hiking trousers and sports tops I could find. 

The allure of a professional dress code was a distant memory, and my daily attire leaned heavily towards convenience and comfort. After all, when your job primarily involves crafting words and jokes, the world becomes your home office, and your dress code becomes an afterthought.

However, the COVID-19 pandemic significantly changed our lives, forcing us to adapt to new routines, work setups, and social limitations. Not much seemed to change initially as someone already accustomed to the remote lifestyle. 

Yet, as the months turned into a year, I became increasingly isolated, and the familiar comforts of my casual wardrobe began to affect my mood and motivation.

The turning point came when lockdown finished, and I was invited to a social function. Stepping out of my comfort zone, both socially and sartorially, triggered a mix of excitement and anxiety. However, none of my clothes no longer fit me as they once did, thanks to the infamous "COVID pounds," I faced a choice: scramble to find something that still work or rediscover the art of dressing well, regardless of my current body shape. I chose the latter, and the following experience was surprising and enlightening.

While my initial goal was merely to look presentable for a social gathering, I quickly realised that dressing well was about more than appearances. It had a profound impact on my mental health, motivation, and overall well-being.

Throughout history, clothing has played a pivotal role in society, serving as protection against the elements and a means of self-expression and societal status. In ancient civilisations, attire often reflected one's rank, profession, or social standing, conveying identity and aspirations. 

Sociologists have long studied the link between clothing and behaviour. "Enclothed cognition," as researchers term it, suggests that our attire significantly influences our thoughts, feelings, and actions. Wearing outfits that make us feel confident boosts self-esteem and affects interactions with the world.

From a physiological perspective, dressing well triggers the release of dopamine—the "feel-good" neurotransmitter—in our brains. Choosing stylish, well-fitted clothing that complements our body shape creates a sense of pleasure and satisfaction, similar to unboxing a new outfit or receiving compliments. 

The relationship between clothing and mental health is profound. Studies show that dressing well enhances mood, increases self-confidence, and reduces stress and anxiety. Looking our best improves self-image and sends positive signals to our brain, reinforcing well-being.

My father was meticulous about his clothes; everything had to be ironed, organised, and cared for. To him, clothing was not just a practical necessity but a reflection of his character and values. One of my vivid memories is his unwavering commitment to coordinating his outfits. He'd obsess over matching socks with his tie, ensuring every element was harmonious. 

His attention to detail left a lasting impression, even though, at the time, I couldn't fully comprehend its significance. He cared for his clothes as if they were his children, folding shirts, hanging suits with precision, and constantly polishing his shoes. It wasn't just aesthetics; it was a profound expression of pride in his appearance and the value he placed on presenting himself well.

In a different era, where fast fashion hadn't taken hold, "buy one, buy well" was necessary. Clothing was an investment meant to last, emphasising craftsmanship and durability. Quality items symbolised enduring elegance and practicality. My father's approach transcended material aspects; it was about intention and care in choices, pride in appearance, and the impact on mental well-being.

Reflecting on my father's approach (even if he did "borrow" all my jumpers and jackets. He was a bit of a cloth magpie), I now understand that dressing well was a form of self-respect and self-expression. It was a way of saying, "I value myself, and I deserve to look and feel my best." It was a silent affirmation of self-worth.

However, sometimes that "self-worth" is a pain, especially if I've nowhere to go or apart from the pick-ups and my daily walk. To get into clothes that are inevitably going to get dirty can be self-defeating, but then I think, "What's the point of having them just sit in the wardrobe?"

Dressing well for no reason isn't about what others think of you; for me, it is about standing out with an inner swagger.