Ok, time for honesty – I am utterly useless on Monday mornings. I mean, literally a completely useless human being. When the weekend high smashes into reality, I literally stare at my closet at 6:30 AM and feel attacked by each piece of clothing in it. For ages, my solution was to grab whatever black thing stank the least like weekend takeout and call it a day. Extremely chic. Extremely “I have my life together”. Completely a lie.
All of this began as I was conducting interviews for a freelance article regarding colour psychology in retail spaces – the usual stuff about how Target uses red to make you buy things you don’t need (spoiler alert: it works). However, one of the experts I interviewed referenced a concept called “dopamine dressing”, and I was like, wait, you can literally dress yourself to be happy? Sign me up.
Dr. Sarah Chen – colour psychologist, studies how environments impact mood – basically told me that wearing clothing that elicits happiness can trigger actual dopamine release. Science. Not simply fashion magazine fantasy. I asked her if it could help resolve my Monday morning existential crisis and she said, “Give it a shot for three weeks. Every Monday, wear something that makes you ridiculously happy. If it doesn’t work, I’ll buy you coffee and we’ll figure out what’s wrong with you.” Best professional advice I have ever received.
Week one was… an adventure. I pulled out this vintage blazer I’d purchased at Goodwill months before but never wore due to its pink hue that would possibly serve as a navigational aid for ships. Think Barbie meets shoulder pads meets “yeah, I am most definitely using this outfit to compensate for something”. I layered it over a pair of jeans and my battered white Converse shoes, since if you are going to go nuts, you may as well be all-in. Walking into the agency that Monday felt like wearing a neon light, however, here’s the bizarre part – I didn’t dislike it? Although I certainly appeared completely insane, I felt… powerful? My boss Marcus performed this double-take action but did not say anything, probably because he is still trying to determine if I am the type of employee who will quit via interpretive dance. By lunchtime, I had received more compliments than I normally receive in a month, and I even volunteered to work on this logo project I had been avoiding. The blazer made me feel like someone who volunteers to do things rather than someone who hides behind her computer while hoping no one sees her.
Week two: yellow pants. School-bus yellow, highlighter yellow, “is that person wearing sunlight?” yellow. These wide-leg pants produce this swooshing noise when I walk, which would normally be annoying but is instead kind of cool. It’s physically impossible to be entirely miserable when your pants are making happy swooshing noises.
I paired them with a navy sweater I purchased at a discount at Target to attempt to tone down the wildness a bit, which was likely futile because the pants were doing all of the heavy lifting. My coworker Jenny sent me a text message 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 truly lost it. I wore this vintage dress I purchased at an estate sale that is covered in fruit print – watermelons, pineapples, and some sort of exotic tropical fruits that may or may not be mangoes. It appears as though Carmen Miranda detonated in the greatest manner possible. The entire dress cost $12 and makes me appear to be someone’s entertaining aunt who travels a great deal and has strong opinions on tequila.
Our junior account manager approached me in the hallway and asked if it was some style I should be familiar with, and I had to inform her, “Nope, dead person’s closet in Beaverton.” But here is the thing – I completely crushed this presentation I had been dreading for weeks. It is either a coincidence or the dress made me feel as though I were someone who wears fruit print dresses therefore I absolutely have my life together, so I ran with it.
After that third Monday, I texted Dr. Chen: “I believe my clothes are giving me drugs and I am okay with it.”
It has now been nearly eight months since I began this experiment and I am completely sold. I have it down to a science – well, my science version, which is more like “these are things that worked once so I am doing them again”.
Rule number 1: Bright enough to see from outer space. Not “that’s a nice blue” but “IS THAT PERSON WEARING LIGHTNING BOLTS?” bright. I have this electric green sweater that makes me glow like a radioactive material and I adore it. Colour affects your brain faster than caffeine, I swear.
Rule number 2: Weird textures are required. I have this cardigan with small fabric balls all over it that makes me feel like I am wearing a bunch of tiny pompoms, and I find it oddly soothing to touch. Like having a stress ball you can wear. How can you become consumed with thoughts of quarterly reports when your sleeve feels like a cuddly caterpillar?
Rule number 3: Nostalgic items that make you feel like a time-traveling rockstar. I have these earrings shaped like mini roller skates since they remind me of being ten and thinking I was going to be on the roller derby team (Spoiler Alert: I fell down immediately and retired). They make me feel like that fearless ten-year-old who thought she could conquer the world, and that is precisely who I need to channel during Monday morning meetings.
Rule number 4: At least one item that is utterly illogical. Clothes that are functional do not generate dopamine. What generates dopamine? A skirt with pockets that are so haphazardly located that using them causes awkward bumps, yet they are there, defying logic and making me happy for no reason whatsoever.
Final Rule: Conversation Starters are a Must. Social Boost is half the battle. My record is twelve random encounters in a single day due to these vintage earrings that resemble tiny rotary phones. Three individuals under the age of twenty-five had no clue what they were intended to represent, which made me feel old and superior at the same time.
Look, I am not claiming that a sunshine-yellow cardigan will magically solve all of your life’s issues. If you loathe your job, no amount of sequins will alleviate that (although they may make perusing your resume a tad more enjoyable). However, I believe we grossly misestimate how greatly our attire can alter our entire day. It is not the “dress for the job you desire” advice that presumes we all aspire to appear as corporate robots, but the genuine visceral delight of seeing your reflection and thinking, “Yes indeed, that is the individual I need to be today.”
Therefore, if you spot someone on the MAX Monday morning sporting something that appears as though they pilfered a particularly colorful peacock, wave hello – it may be me, headed to another meeting that will be approximately 30 percent more tolerable thanks to my clothing-induced euphoria. I shall be the individual with the large grin, basking in my own supply of clothing-induced euphoria chemicals.
As an aside, the science supports this notion – there is a phenomenon known as “enclothed cognition” which is fancy talk for “Dress like a happy individual and deceive your brain into believing it”. In my completely unscientific personal research, it appears to function at roughly an 80 percent success rate. The remaining 20 percent? Even a shirt with dancing flamingos cannot save you from consecutive back-to-back Zoom calls with difficult clients.
My Monday attire has become increasingly absurd as this study has progressed. Last week I wore a vintage bowling shirt with “Steve” embroidered on it (I am most definitely not a Steve), along with a metallic pleated skirt and combat boots. The contrast was quite stunning. Our new intern seemed frightened, as if she witnessed a complete meltdown in real-time.
