I never thought picking an outfit could feel like I’m preparing for a production of my life, but Zoom changed everything for me. Suddenly, what I choose to wear for the day isn’t just about what I want to wear, which is sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It’s about how I’ll look on camera. I need to ensure I look professional and then decide whether anyone notices the sweatpants I’m wearing out of view.
There’s this awkward and frankly frustrating feeling between wanting to be comfortable and wanting to look presentable. I want to feel cozy because I’m literally sitting in my own home, but I also want to look like I know what I’m doing. That’s turned my nightly routine of “what am I wearing tomorrow” into a mix of strategy and bugging my husband. I pick the shirts I wear with caution I wouldn’t normally use because they’re the only part anyone sees. I’ll throw my shirt in the dryer to get rid of any wrinkles and double check for stains or holes all while my beloved sweatpants stay ignored.
I read somewhere that our color choices have meaning too. Bright colors make someone look more awake, which isn’t a part of my wardrobe, while neutrals give off a more serious vibe. Meanwhile, patterns can be both distracting and show a personal touch that others lack at the same time. A lot of people can pull that look off, but I’m not one of them. Instead, I’ve found myself holding clothes up to my husband and asking, “Does this seem reasonable enough to wear?”
Zoom calls also create this feeling of pressure for me. I get nervous because there are chances I might be the first to show up on the screen, and then my background is visible. Now, clothing is only one part of the performance. Now, I care about what impression my outfit leaves behind and whether or not my brother-in-laws are going to blast Fall Out Boy next door.
Even though the drama is real, I try to laugh about it because I never cared for fashion before. I will say that the process of choosing an outfit for a short call feels ridiculous, but it also reminds me that little details matter.
In the end, planning a Zoom outfit is part fashion experiment and part theater at this point. This little daily performance is harmless, but it’s a reminder that our work and our presence matter even when we’re at home. I hope anyone struggling with the Zoom balancing act can find comfort in knowing it’s normal to care about the details, and I hope we all can approach it with a little humor.
