Ever since I can remember, I didn’t care much about how I dressed. Not that I’d wear anything offensive, but I always thought it frivolous to spend effort dressing up. My mom took half an hour to get ready while my dad was done out the shower. Form should follow function.

But this past Thanksgiving, I went shopping and ended up buying a coat after visiting eight stores. I had felt that previous outings wasted my time, so what changed?

I think the shift first started when I moved to New York. New Yorkers are stylish, and this contrasted with how I dressed, especially since I hadn’t changed my wardrobe since high school.

But I brushed off the feeling. Beh! This was just marketing getting into my head. Screw that, and 5th Ave, and the subliminal messaging incepting that I’d be happy if only I had this or that.

Yeah, that was surely it. I thought back to the call to arms I had in college reading Paul Graham’s blog posts about building cool things. All those kids going into finance and consulting were suckers! Look at how they do nothing substantial while I write code– that’s why they have to wear suits to work because all they’re selling is the appearance. This is how we look as software developers. It’s all about what you build, so how you dress is irrelevant. If anything, you were less of a builder if you cared about how you dressed, because clearly you weren’t spending all your time building. I was riding high and felt righteous in my jeans and hoodie.

But as I stayed in New York, I couldn’t deny that I wanted to look better. For some reason, though, I was so vehemently opposed to putting effort into this part of my life.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the clothes. Maybe I didn’t want to dress well because I associated it with the cool kids I’d seen in school. Maybe I didn’t dislike stylish clothing as much as its reminder for how I had felt out of place.

Maybe I didn’t want to dress well because I was unsure of my identity. Maybe it was easier to latch onto an identity off-the-shelf of a software kid than sit with the ambiguity of discovering who I was. On a more personal note, maybe I didn’t want to dress well because I saw how it took my mom a lot of time. Maybe I disdained dressing well because it detracted from time with my parents I had wished I’d had more of.

When I tuned into the subconscious thoughts I had about dressing well, it became clear that I had a lot of emotions I wasn’t previously aware of.

So here’s what I think about fashion now: I think it’s fun to dress up and try different styles. I like being color-coordinated– it’s visually satisfying for a reason I can’t explain. I’m happy with the effort I put in and I feel more confident in clothing that fits me over clothing that doesn’t. Do I still think the world spends an inordinate amount on advertising compared to understanding the universe? Yes– just look at the marketing budget for LVMH. But I’m not as tied to the crusade to also admit (and act on) the kernel of truth: how you dress matters.

I’m happy with where I ended up fashion-wise. And now, I want to do other things with my time.

The more interesting meta-lesson was realizing that my emotions clouded my thinking. How much of our opinions and thoughts come from associations we’re not aware of? I suppose figuring this out is the work of therapy. In retrospect, it was a sign that I had a knee-jerk aversion to dressing well, whereas I didn’t for other things.

More broadly, does emotional-awareness actually lead to better thoughts? I’d say so. If you think of the world as this really complicated thing where you’re trying to reason about what’s going on, then being aware of your emotions is like having more data to work with. It seems then that how well you think is a product of both intellectual maturity and emotional maturity.