Ever Feel Like You’re Wearing Someone Else’s Clothes?

Sometimes, we alter our clothes for a better fit. But a lot of the time, we place ourselves in the options available to us.

All of my life I have been wearing them,

the hand-me-downs, the pants too long,

arms of sweaters stretched longer than mine,

sleeves of shirts I rolled up like newspapers,

those shoulders that would never stay in place,

always remembering: we are here to fit in.

And the very shoes that narrowed on my feet,

I gave away or traded up for other people’s soles.

I have thought somewhere there must be men

whose socks don’t shrink, whose buttons stay put,

whose shirts never wear out at the elbows.

I paid for what other people gave away.

All of my life I wanted to stand tall,

but as I grew up my clothes kept wearing out, when

in my child’s heart, I only wanted the comfort of corduroy,

a face that didn’t need ironing, a crease that would stay put—

these labels I hoped wouldn’t rub off.

– Michael Magee (​Other People’s Clothes​)

Does this feel familiar? Do you ever feel like you’re wearing someone else’s clothes? Like you’re trying to change yourself to fit a mould that wasn’t made with you in mind?

We often squeeze ourselves into moulds that others were courageous to make. At first, these moulds might seem gently rebellious and different. But over time, they harden into stifling calls to conformity.

Moulds are often created by those who find freedom in discovering new things that fit them. In sharing that discovery, they leave behind a template or prescription to help others. However, instead of guiding, it can sometimes pressure others to follow paths that aren’t their own.

One Garment, Different Looks

I first read Michael Magee’s poem in a Haven Kota discussion about the phrase “well worn.” One idea that stayed with me was that the same garment can look entirely different on two people. On one, it’s natural and effortless. On another, it feels alien.

We don’t need to be fashion experts to sense when someone’s outfit clashes with their inner rhythm; we’ve all experienced it ourselves as well. That gnawing feeling that we’re living a life we haven’t completely chosen.

Fitting Is About Feeling

In this sense, “fitting” isn’t about measurements. It’s about feeling. No one else can judge whether our clothes or lives truly suit us. Maybe we love a baggy existence, loose and forgiving. Perhaps we prefer a tight fit, with every contour visible and unapologetic.

The question isn’t the style; it’s the why. Are we wearing this because it aligns with who we are when no one’s watching? Or because we’ve grown addicted to the stares—the approval when we “look the part,” even as we feel emptier beneath the fabric?

When we tie our worth to credentials, reputation, or others’ nods of respect, we risk losing touch with ourselves. We might look like we fit in, but the cost is a quiet erosion: We do this to impress them, not to honour us.

More Than Comfort

This isn’t to say life should always feel comfortable. It won’t. That’s one of our gripes with the language of “finding your purpose.” It suggests a perfect outfit out there that, once discovered, will erase all contradiction, uncertainty, and lack. This is the fuel the self-help industry runs on: a perpetual quest for a mirage on the horizon.

We are not dismissing hand-me-downs. Borrowed ideas, traditions, and influences are vital. They shape us and give us a sense of anchored belonging in the through-line of humanity. I read ​this article​ earlier today, which highlights a clothes library in Shropshire where people can donate and borrow pre-loved garments. Our clothes carry stories. Histories. The library invites borrowers to try them on, add our own chapters, then pass them back and onwards.

This is how identities, too, are shared. We wear certain values, beliefs, or roles for a stretch of the journey, then let them return to the collective shelf when they no longer fit. And isn’t there joy in that? No single body wears the same fabric the same way; no single life interprets an idea identically. There’s nothing new under the sun, only new ways of wearing it.

But this only happens when we’re allowed to grow with them, weaving in the threads of our own sensitivity, creativity, and values. If we can’t, those borrowed layers smother rather than sustain us.

New Possibilities in Someone Else’s Clothes

Sometimes, wearing someone else’s clothes gives us a glimpse of new possibilities. But there’s a difference here… We make choices to collaborate with these moulds, not to cram ourselves into them. We’re not forcing our self-concept, identity, or values into an image that doesn’t belong to us, and to which we don’t belong.

Were the choices we make, the priorities we set, and the life we lead given to us without question? Did we see them on someone else and assume they would fit, only to discover we were bending ourselves out of shape to squeeze into them?

Do you feel as if you’re wearing someone else’s clothes?

If this rings true, I invite you to book a ​Pick The Lock Call​ with me, which is a great chance to explore these threads and start knitting together something that fits you much better.