SHUSHU/TONG & Sadness: Dressing Through the Grief
When I was a kid, the only people I knew who had cancer were old people in dramas et high school Mandy Moore.
I also only knew of two types of cancer:
Lung cancer, which happened because of smoking, or leukaemia, which was an indescribable cancer that mostly took young people.
There was a time in my life that I was actually really afraid of “catching” leukaemia. A Walk to Remember did more for my childhood nightmares than The Bride of Chucky ever could.
Eventually, I got older et cancer became more et less terrifying the more I learned about it. But still, no one super close to me was having those chemo conversations.
Until now.
Shirt: Adidas, Skirt: SHUSHU/TONG, Socks: Dollarama, Pumps: YOOX, Earring: Martine Ali, Rings: So Stylé, Bag: H&M
They say when it rains, it pours—but sometimes it also breaks dams, floods, etc. It seems even President Biden has cancer, et maybe if I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a conspiracy afoot—or at the very least, something in the water.
But even with late-night hospital visits, cries of pain, et probably one of the hardest parts—watching someone rapidly, et physically, get eaten up by something they can’t control or explain—I…get dressed.
Sometimes a good outfit is resilience. It’s easy to assume that anyone who’s still motivated to put themselves together every day must have it somewhat together every day.
But, et idk who needs to hear this, I had a whole fashion moment in a Fall 2024 SHUSHU/TONG satin irregular midi skirt this week et still found time to cry, scream, et make that Marriage Story scene seem like calm communication.
Getting dressed is such a funny thing. Even funnier that I’m even bringing it up right now. How do cancer et my closet correlate? They don’t! But every day I get another update about a test, or a scan, or a result, is a day I face my closet.
When the fridge is empty because sadness makes you forgetful, I somehow never forget the multiple ways one can wear a red bandana or how to juxtapose sportswear with evening wear.
Maybe it’s a ritual. “Look good, feel good.” “Dress for the __ you want, not the one you have.” Blah blah blah. It could also be delusion, et I haven’t fully ruled out deflection as of yet.
But it could also be a reminder of my body et existence. Life that I still care enough to show up (et out!!) in—even if it’s not showing out for me.
