Closet Existential: Sartre, Self, and the Philosophy of Getting Dressed

A 2012 study found that subjects who wore a doctor's lab coat showed dramatically increased focus on attention-heavy tasks. Wait, just… putting on the coat changed how their brains worked? Exactly. The clothes weren't just on them; they were in them. Which, you know, makes me think. Last week we talked about the absurdity of waiting for a bus, but this… this feels so much more intimate. The everyday absurdity of getting dressed. Oh, don't. My closet is a philosophical war zone every single morning.

I stand there and I just… freeze. It’s a graveyard of past identities. There's the me who thought I'd be a person who wears linen. That did NOT happen. Right! It’s this silent negotiation. Between "what do I actually want to wear?" and "what is the 'me' I need to perform today?" The professional me? The casual, trying-not-to-look-like-I'm-trying me? It's pure Jean-Paul Sartre. It's 'bad faith' in action. Okay, unpack that. Bad faith. Well, Sartre's whole thing is that we are radically, terrifyingly free.

But that freedom creates anxiety, so we pretend we aren't. We pretend we're a "waiter" or a "boss" or a "student" as if that role is a fixed thing that dictates our actions. And our clothes. And our clothes! You put on the blazer and you tell yourself, "Well, I have to wear this for my job." You're acting as if you're an object—a professional—whose wardrobe is pre-determined. You're denying the terrifying fact that you are a free being who is CHOOSING to put on the blazer. You're hiding from your own freedom inside a J.Crew catalog.

YES! You're in bad faith. You're playing a part instead of, you know, authentically existing. So what does authentically existing even look like in a closet? Is it just… sweatpants? Because honestly, my most authentic self is my Sunday morning sweatpants self. Maybe! But see, even that is a choice. You're choosing comfort. You're choosing to present as "the person who is relaxing." There's no escape. Oh god. So there's no neutral ground. There's no outfit that isn't a statement. None. And that's the "anguish" Sartre talks about.

It's not that the choices are bad. It's that the choice is TOTAL, and it is entirely yours. Every single day, you are condemned to be free. Condemned to define yourself from a pile of cotton and denim. That is an unbearable amount of pressure to put on a t-shirt. It explains why I own, like, eight nearly identical gray sweaters. It’s an attempt to reduce the choice. To create a uniform for myself so I don't have to have an existential crisis at 7 a.m. It’s a totally rational response to an irrational situation.

You’re trying to build a cage to protect yourself from the sheer vertigo of it all. So we’re all just… lying. To ourselves. Every morning. We pick a costume for the role we've decided to play and we pretend the script was already written for us. Most of the time, yeah. I mean, think about it. That one piece of clothing in the back of your closet. The one you love but never wear. Ohhh, I know the one. Why don't you wear it? Because it feels too much like you. It's too loud, or too weird, or too… something.

It doesn't fit the role. Wearing it would be an act of pure, terrifying freedom. It would be an admission that you are not just "a manager" or "a mom." You are you. And that’s… a lot. So this whole time I thought I was just trying to match a belt to my shoes. But what I was actually doing was wrestling with the fundamental nature of human consciousness. Every single time. You’re not just choosing an outfit. You're choosing your being. You're deciding, for one more day, who you are. So tomorrow morning, when I’m staring into that abyss of fabric… what am I even supposed to do?

I don't know. Maybe just pick the thing that feels true. Even if it’s only for a second.