Okay, confession time – I’m basically useless on Monday mornings. Like, genuinely terrible human being levels of useless. The weekend high crashes into reality so hard I literally stand in front of my closet at 6:30 AM feeling personally offended by every piece of clothing I own. For the longest time, my solution was grabbing whatever black thing smelled the least like weekend takeout and calling it a day. Very chic, very “I have my life together,” very much a lie.
This whole thing started because I was interviewing people for a freelance piece about color psychology in retail spaces – you know, boring stuff about how Target uses red to make you buy things you don’t need (spoiler: it works). But one of the experts I talked to mentioned this thing called “dopamine dressing” and I was like, wait, what? You can literally dress yourself happy? Sign me up.
Dr. Sarah Chen – she’s this color psychologist who studies how environments affect mood – basically told me that wearing clothes that make you happy can actually trigger dopamine release. Real science stuff, not just fashion magazine nonsense. I asked her if it could cure my Monday morning existential crisis and she goes, “Try it for three weeks. Wear something that makes you stupidly happy every Monday. If it doesn’t work, I’ll buy you coffee and we’ll figure out what’s wrong with you.” Best professional advice I’ve ever gotten.
Week one was… an experience. I dug out this vintage blazer I’d found at Goodwill months earlier but never worn because it’s this shade of pink that could probably guide ships to shore. Think Barbie meets shoulder pads meets “yes I am definitely compensating for something with this outfit.” I threw it over jeans and my beat-up white Converses because if you’re gonna go ridiculous, might as well commit.
Walking into the agency that Monday felt like wearing a neon sign, but here’s the weird part – I didn’t hate it? Like, yeah, I looked completely insane, but I also felt… powerful? My boss Marcus did this double-take thing but didn’t say anything, probably because he’s still figuring out if I’m the kind of employee who might quit via interpretive dance. By lunch I’d gotten more compliments than I usually get in a month, and I actually volunteered to work on this logo project I’d been avoiding. The blazer made me feel like someone who volunteers for things instead of someone who hides behind her computer hoping no one notices her.
Week two: yellow pants. And not cute, subtle yellow – we’re talking school bus, highlighter, “are you wearing the sun?” yellow. Wide-leg ones that make this swishing sound when I walk, which should be annoying but is actually kind of amazing. You can’t be completely miserable when your pants are making happy swishing noises, turns out. It’s physically impossible.
I paired them with a navy sweater I got on clearance at Target to try to tone things down, which was probably pointless because the pants were doing all the talking anyway. My coworker Jenny literally texted me from across the room: “Why are you smiling at your computer it’s MONDAY this is unnatural.” But I was smiling. At spreadsheets. On a Monday. The yellow pants had broken my brain in the best way.
Week three was when I really lost it. I wore this vintage dress I’d found at an estate sale that’s covered in fruit print – watermelons, pineapples, some mysterious tropical things that might be mangoes or might be something the designer made up. It looks like Carmen Miranda exploded in the best possible way. The whole thing cost me twelve bucks and makes me look like someone’s fun aunt who travels a lot and has opinions about tequila.
Our junior account manager stopped me in the hallway to ask if it was some designer she should know about, and I had to be like, “Nope, dead person’s closet in Beaverton.” But here’s the thing – I completely nailed this presentation I’d been stressed about for weeks. Could’ve been coincidence, but the dress made me feel like someone who wears fruit prints definitely has her shit together, so I went with it.
I texted Dr. Chen after that third Monday: “I think my clothes are drugging me and I’m not mad about it.”
Now it’s been almost eight months of this experiment and I’m completely converted. I’ve got it down to a science – well, my version of science, which is more like “things that worked once so I’m doing them again.”
First rule: it has to be bright enough to see from space. Not “oh that’s a nice blue” but “IS THAT PERSON WEARING ELECTRICITY?” bright. I’ve got this electric green sweater that makes me look radioactive and I love it. Color hits your brain faster than caffeine, I swear.
Second: weird textures are mandatory. I have this cardigan covered in little fabric balls that makes me look like I’m wearing a bunch of tiny pompoms, and it’s weirdly soothing to touch. Like having a stress ball you can wear. Hard to spiral about quarterly reports when your sleeve feels like a friendly caterpillar.
Third: nostalgic stuff that makes you feel like a time-traveling badass. I’ve got these earrings shaped like tiny roller skates because they remind me of being ten and thinking I was gonna join roller derby (spoiler alert: I fell down immediately and retired). But they make me feel like that fearless kid who thought she could do anything, which is exactly who I need to channel during Monday morning meetings.
Fourth: at least one thing that makes zero practical sense. Practical clothes don’t generate dopamine – you know what does? A skirt with pockets placed so randomly that using them creates weird lumps, but they’re THERE, defying logic and making me happy for no reason.
Last: conversation starters are essential. The social boost is half the point. My record is twelve random interactions in one day because of these vintage earrings shaped like tiny rotary phones. Three people under twenty-five had no idea what they were supposed to be, which made me feel ancient and superior simultaneously.
Look, I’m not saying a sunshine yellow cardigan will solve your life problems. If you hate your job, no amount of sequins will fix that (though they might make updating your resume more bearable). But there’s something genuinely powerful about showing up to the worst day of the week dressed like you’re excited to exist.
The science actually backs this up – there’s this thing called “enclothed cognition” which is fancy talk for “dress like a happy person and trick your brain into believing it.” In my extremely unscientific personal study, it works maybe 80% of the time. The other 20%? Sometimes even a shirt covered in dancing flamingos can’t save you from back-to-back Zoom calls with difficult clients.
My Monday outfits have gotten progressively more unhinged as this experiment continues. Last week I wore a vintage bowling shirt with “Steve” embroidered on it (I am definitely not a Steve) with a metallic pleated skirt and combat boots. The clash was spectacular. Our new intern looked genuinely worried, like she was witnessing a mental breakdown in real time.
The unexpected side effect is how this has infected the rest of my wardrobe. I used to save my “good clothes” for mysterious future occasions that never came, which meant my favorite stuff just lived in my closet judging me. Now that sequined top I bought for New Year’s two years ago gets paired with jeans for random Tuesday meetings. Those hand-painted heels I found marked down at Nordstrom Rack? Regular rotation. Life’s too short and Mondays happen too often to keep the joy-inducing stuff locked away like museum pieces.
I started posting these Monday looks on Instagram mostly to document the insanity, but other people started doing their own versions. My favorite comment was from this tax lawyer who wore a tie covered in tiny dinosaurs to meet with clients and somehow closed his biggest deal ever. Another follower – kindergarten teacher – wore a different bright color every Monday for a month and said both her mood and her students’ behavior improved. Apparently dopamine is contagious, which explains why my coworkers have started wearing slightly less depressing colors on Mondays.
Not everyone gets it, obviously. My mom regularly texts “This is for WORK??” when I post outfit pics, genuinely baffled by what kind of professional environment tolerates my color choices. And yeah, there are always those fashion people who think enjoying your clothes is somehow less sophisticated than suffering in them silently.
But here’s what I’ve learned through almost a year of intentional mood-boosting clothes: we seriously underestimate how much our outfits can change our entire day. Not the “dress for the job you want” advice that assumes we all want to look like corporate robots, but the real visceral pleasure of catching your reflection and thinking, “Hell yes, that’s exactly who I need to be today.”
So if you see someone on the MAX Monday morning wearing something that looks like they mugged a particularly fabulous peacock, wave hi – it might be me, heading to another meeting that’ll somehow be 30% more tolerable because I’m dressed like someone who refuses to let Monday win. I’ll be the one grinning for no apparent reason, high on my own supply of clothing-induced happiness chemicals.
Madison’s a Portland-based designer who treats thrift stores like treasure hunts. She writes about dressing well on a real salary—think smart buys, affordable finds, and brutal honesty about what’s worth it. Stylish, broke, and proud of it.
