Decoded: the language of the garment
There is a moment, standing in front of the mirror, when you think you are just getting dressed. A shirt, a jacket, a pair of shoes. Choices that feel instinctive, maybe even arbitrary. But they aren´t. What you are actually doing is something far more intricate: selecting from a set of pre-written symbols, stepping into a language that predates you.
Fashion is sold as a personal expression, a form of identity-making that is wholly yours. But the truth is, before you even step into a garment, its meaning has already been decided. A crisp white shirt is not just fabric - it is restraint, a subtle assertion of authority, and the idea of a clean state. A bomber jacket? Rebellion, with a tinge of nostalgia, worn with a sense of quiet defiance. A trench coat, once the uniform of espionage and wartime utility, now rebranded as intellectual Parisienne chic. These aren´t simply clothes - they are codes. Social contracts stitched into seams. And like any system of signs, they come with rules. Rules we follow, bend, or, if we are paying attention, subvert.
So, the question is here: who wrote the rules you are following. Where are those codes coming from. And, more importantly, do you know when and how to break them?
And like any system of signs, they come with rules. Rules we follow, blend, and subvert.
Dressing as Autonomy: Are You Choosing, or Are You Being Chosen?
We love to believe we dress for ourselves. That our choices are free, personal, uninfluenced. But nothing in fashion exists in isolation. Every decision - whether conscious or unconscious - is shaped by history, power structures, and the ever-present force of cultural messaging.
Take the tailored suit. A classic symbol of control. Its meaning, however, is anything but fixed - subtle shifts in fit or style can turn it from a symbol of conformity to one of quiet rebellion. A tie discarded, sleeves rolled up, the jacket worn casually: suddenly, the suit no longer dictates power; it question it. What we wear is never neutral. It is a conversation between our intentions and the rules we inherit, a constant negotiation between autonomy and expectation.
Or consider the chemise à la Reine - Marie Antoinette’s scandalous white muslin dress. The dress she wore in an attempt to bridge the gap between monarchy and the people. Stripped of the formality and extravagance of court attire, it was meant to signal a kind of intimacy with the masses. Linen, long associated with purity and modesty, stood in stark contrast to the heavy silks and gilded brocades of Versailles. It was meant to signal restraint, a queen who could live simply, who understood the struggles of her people. But in discarding the symbols of authority, she inadvertently broke the very fabric of the system she tried to uphold. The simplicity of the garment was not seen as an invitation but a sign of disarray, a loss of control. What was meant as an act of unity became a symbol of disintegration. The people, instead of seeing humility, saw betrayal. What was meant to soften her image only deepened the divide.
This is the syntax of garments: the same piece that can bridge worlds can also tear them apart. Fashion is never just fabric. It is a contract, a code system. What is seen as radical today will be absorbed into the mainstream tomorrow, altering the codes that define authority. To truly dress with autonomy is not merely to rebel against fashion, but to understand its history and rules deeply enough to rewrite them. In mastering this language, you can choose what message your clothes send, and more importantly, who gets control the narrative.
Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun. Marie Antoinette. 1783.
Fashion as Hidden Communication: When Expression Becomes a Subversion
In societies where overt resistance is punished, fashion has always been a secret language. Just like art in times of authoritarian rule, it becomes a form of hidden communication - a way to subvert authority while appearing to comply.
During the French Revolution, wearing certain colors or cockades was a quiet act of allegiance, a message to those who knew how to read it. In the Soviet Union, where Western styles were restricted, young rebels smuggled in jeans - denim becoming not just a fabric, but a symbol of defiance. Just like today, in parts of the world where women´s dress is strictly policed, small acts - an exposed wrist, a shade of lipstick deemed inappropriate - become acts of quiet rebellion.
Because fashion is never just fashion. It can be a way of saying what cannot be spoken. A way of asserting identity in places where identity is under siege. A way of reclaiming autonomy in systems designed to erase it.
Even in more “free” societies, where self-expression is supposedly limitless, we are still negotiating the unspoken rules of the dress. There are uniforms for belonging, codes for access, invisible markers that determine who gets taken seriously and who does not. Fashion can be a means of self-creation, but it can also be a trap. Because the moment you step outside the lines - wear the wrong thing, send the wrong signal - the system reminds you that the rules still exist.
Take the illusion of androgyny. A woman in a tuxedo or trench coat is perceived as powerful, elevated by the association with traditional masculinity. The sharp tailoring, the crisp lines, the historical weight of the garment itself - all signal authority, competence, a right to occupy space. But reverse the equation. A man in a silk dress, in lace, in something delicate - he is not granted the same elevation. Instead, he is seen as losing power, moving down the hierarchy rather than up. Because despite the rhetoric of progress, masculinity remains the unmarked default, the neutral ground. Femininity, on the other hand, is still too often coded as excess, as softness, as something to be subdued rather than embraced.
So no, fashion is not entirely free. Not yet. It is still governed by hierarchies, by centuries of inherited codes that dictate not just what we wear, but how we are perceived when we wear it. The rules may evolve, but they do not disappear. And the moment you forget that, the system has a way of reminding you.
The Illusion of Individuality: Can You Ever Escape the Codes?
We like to believe that we are unique. That our choices - what we wear, how we present ourselves - are ours alone. But how much of what we consider personal style is truly personal? How much is conditioned by the desire to fit into an aesthetic, to be legible to others, to signal belonging without even realizing it?
Even rebellion is curated. The grunge movement, originally an anti-fashion statement, was commercialised within a decade. Punk, born as a rejection of the system, was repackaged as a mainstream aesthtic. Minimalism, once a rejection of excess, became an aspirational lifestyle. Every radical shift in fashion, from punk´s safety pins to grunge´s thrift-store apathy, started as a rejection and ended as a marketing campaign. The system absorbs. It waits for rebellion to exhaust itself, then rebrands it as the next big thing.
Nothing exists outside the system. Not even resistance. The moment a movement gains traction, it is absorbed, softened, commercialised. Which means true individuality - the kind that doesn´t just look different but actually disrupts -requires more than opting out. It requires knowing the codes so well you can manipulate them, push them until they crack. It is not just about dressing differently. It is about shifting the meaning of what you wear before the system catches up and turns it into the next trend.
Breaking the Rules Requires Knowing Them First
So if you want to break the rules, you can´t just reject them. You have to know them intimately - every stitch, every reference, every silent command embedded in the seams of what you wear. True subversion doesn´t come from throwing things together at random. It comes from understanding the codes so deeply that you can manipulate them from the inside, deconstruct them, bending them to say what they were never meant to say.
The most powerful dressers don´t just follow trends or break rules - they manipulate the very codes that define them. They understand that fashion is a language, one where silhouette, texture, and proportion are charged with meaning. A sharply cut jacket asserts control; an oversized one subverts it. A silk dress on a woman is elegance, on a man, defiance. The strongest players use these expectations against themselves, bending tradition until it fractures into something raw, radical, and undeniably their own.
Because true style is rebellion. Not the kind that necessarily screams for attention, but the kind that shifts the ground beneath it. The power of dressing isn´t in following trends or even rejecting them - it is in understanding the game so intimately that you can rewrite the rules without ever announcing it. The real revolution is subtle, precise, inevitable. And by the time the world catches on, the shift has already happened.
A silk dress on a woman is elegance, an a man defiance.
Fashion as a Hidden Communication: The Art of Rebellion
Think of it like jazz: you can’t improvise until you have internalised the structure and rules, until you can manipulate the melody and bend the notes. A vintage tee isn’t subversive unless you understand the semiotic weight it carries - how it reclaims youth culture, disrupts the polished, perfect image, and speaks to rebellion. It is not just torn fabric; it is an act of defiance, an unraveling of norms. A sharp, tailored suit doesn’t radiate power on its own - if you don´t understand its historical origin in patriarchal dominance and colonial authority, its crisp lines won´t hold the weight they carry. Without that history, it is just cloth. The same goes for a simple gesture - like leaving your shirt untucked or wearing a coat that engulfs your frame. It is not an accident; it is deliberate imbalance, designed to challenge expectations, to unsettle the order that demands control through proportions.
Every piece, every silhouette is part of a larger semiotic system that has been formed over centuries by power, restriction, and identity. To break those codes, you must first understand them. Only then can you disrupt them, playing with their syntax to create something entirely new. Fashion stops being a set of prescribed rules and becomes your language - a language you control, a syntax you bend to your will. If you want to break the rules - not just rebel but radically disrupt - you must become fluent in the semiotics of style. Then, fashion stops being something you wear and becomes something you control.
The Final Rule: Know the System
So, we all agree that fashion, like art and music, operates on a coded system - a syntax of silhouettes, fabrics, and proportions that communicate power, status, and rebellion. We like to believe our style is individual, but without understanding these codes, we aren’t true subjects in this context - we are just objects, moving through someone else´s narrative. Without that knowledge, we are not expressing ourselves - we are being spoken for.
Mastery of the code is autonomy. When you know the rules, you can decide when to follow them, when to break them. and when to weaponise them. A shift in dress can challenge a government, unsettle a regime, or signal allegiance before a word is spoken. It can open doors, secure jobs, and demand recognition in spaces that would rather ignore you. To know the rules is to recognise the systems at play; to break them with intent is to assert autonomy.
Style is never just aesthetic - it is agency. Whether you are challenging authority, shifting perceptions, or simply demanding to be seen on your own terms, fashion is more than garments - it is a strategy. A code system. And those who learn to control its language don´t just participate in the system. They rewrite it.
https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/1783-vigee-le-brun-antoinette-chemise/
https://histoire-image.org/etudes/marie-antoinette-mal-aimee