Express Yourself.
That time I let a piano belt lead the way.
In 7th grade, I wore the most beautiful outfit in the world.
I can’t find photos, so you’ll just have to trust me, but it was a mix of pure whimsy and fashion, the kind of thing that would make a Vogue-lover’s heart sing. The year was half over but for me, it was just beginning. I had braces, but I traded my clunky glasses for contacts and long hair with wings for a short, asymmetrical cut. Self-loathing, be damned! I couldn’t drive, make my own bedtime, or switch my Texas suburban life for an artsy New York one, but I could choose what I wore. And I chose a piano belt.
The belt was exactly as it sounded: a belt that looked like a piano. It was pleather, had a shiny black buckle, and was long enough to wear over a shirt, slung low around the hips. I found it at a novelty store at Valley View Mall, which should have been a clue, but I loved it. And in a year where what I loved was suddenly different than what everyone else loved, I went for it.
My mom was a fan of fashion, just like her grandmother before her, so she was game to hunt for weird, 80’s designers at a strange outlet store an hour away from our house. Most of my outfits didn’t go over well – purple-and-pink striped matching mini skirt set with leg warmers or a red, white, and yellow parachute pants and jacket set that swished when I walked – but when I stood in front of my closet, it never occurred to me to do anything else. I was shy in other ways. But when it came to fashion, I channeled Iris Apfel before I knew who she was. Why be boring when you could be fabulous?
I debuted the outfit early in the morning while standing on a ladder changing letters on the announcement board. It was my first time doing it, and kids walking by stared at me, but I was used to that. They stared at anything out of the norm, and this outfit was definitely that: denim mini-skirt, striped Esprit button-down, the piano belt, and royal blue, plastic high-top jellies shoes with charm socks. The shoes had cutouts on the sides so you could see the socks: white bobby socks with plastic charms hanging off of them. There were tiny pink roller skates and music notes! A yellow bike and hot dogs! They also clinked when I walked.
Mostly, I was the shy girl in 80s fashion who liked to study, sometimes accompanied the choir on piano, and was the only seventh grader on the newspaper staff. My three best friends at school didn’t care about fashion. My friends from the youth group went to different schools, so even though they didn’t dress like me, they didn’t make fun of me, either. In between studying, practicing piano, and writing stories and poems for the paper, I poured over Vogue like gospel, enthralled by the clothes but also by the photos. I wanted to live in those highly conceptual, imaginary worlds crafted by world-famous photographers – and outfits were as close as I could get.
I jingled into English class and Ms. Hibbetts clapped her hands and squealed. “It’s so original!” She was my favorite teacher, tall and lanky with permed brown hair and flowy dresses. She was also a champion of creativity, head of the newspaper staff, and a fan of my writing. I beamed.
“The whole thing is just so creative,” she said, motioning from my belt to my socks. “We have to show the other class!” The other class was across the hall and full of eighth graders. It was going to be less show and tell, more seventh grader to the slaughter.
”Come on,” Ms. Hibbetts said gently, sensing my hesitation. “They’ll love it!”
They wouldn’t love it, but at that point in my life, I worked hard not to disappoint people.
“Sorry to interrupt, everyone,” she said, waving her long arms as she waltzed into the classroom. “But I just had to show you Kari’s outfit. Writing is about creativity! It’s about art! And it doesn’t get much more artistic than this.”
She presented me to the class and motioned for me to spin around. I stood there for a moment, avoiding the gaze of twenty-five eighth-graders. When I looked up, I noticed most of them just looked bored.
”Turn around!” Ms. Hibbetts said, nodding and smiling along with the other teacher. “Let them see the whole thing!”
I smiled and spun around, socks clinking. When I stopped, I gave a little curtsy – and the snickering began.
In my memory, the class went from laughing to howling, pointing, and throwing spitballs as the teachers waxed poetically about creativity. I’m not sure if I ran out of the room crying or if I waited until I got home, but I’m sure I broke down. The outfit that brought me so much joy now made me miserable. Later, my parents would wonder why I drew so much attention to myself, but I knew it wasn’t about attention – it was about expression. It would have been easier to blend in, but wearing what I liked, wacky or not, seemed essential to my existence. Subconsciously, it was a siren call sent out to other misfits. I’m here! The charm socks said. Come and find me! The piano belt echoed. Let’s be different together!
Decades later I’d learn that one of my best friends remembered the outfit. He was a few years younger than me, but used to see me in the halls and wish we could be friends. That wouldn’t happen until high school, but he responded to the call. And these days, we’re closer than ever. Life is lovely like that.
We wear an outfit that’s 100% us, post a funny Substack, or write a book that’s shared with the world, all calls. Some calls are to other artists and misfits; some are to those who’ve experienced grief or pain; and some are just ways to connect. Hello! I’m here! Are you here, too? I’m creating. Are you creating? What are you making? Community happens when we reach out to each other, subconsciously or not.
On March 24th, Petey Sellers had a message for me. “Be fabulous!” he said during meditation. “Be flamboyant! Be you!” I laughed because Petey was an extension of me, fun and wacky, a lover of games and puppets. Our synchronicity was strong! Our silliness was unparalleled. And our unconditional love was real. For Petey, my unique combination of wackiness and imagination was just right. In some ways, I’d put out a call for him, too.
I never wore that piano belt to school again, but I wore it to youth group the next week. (I’m sure I left the charm socks at home.) In eighth grade I got more daring, wearing blue tweed Esprit menswear pants, sweater vests, and ties, à la Annie Lennox. And in high school, new wave was everywhere and punk was fringe, but it wasn’t so strange, anymore. But I wonder: did the piano belt make me more confident? Or was I more confident because I wore the piano belt? I’ll probably never know. But I’ll always be grateful for that bold choice, picking joy over safety and expression over silence. An outfit that was the beginning of a creative life, the most beautiful kind in the world.
Happy Spring! Are you making bold choices? Creating things you love? Basking in the fabulous colors of Spring? Share your favorite/life-changing outfit in the comments! As always, thanks for reading and supporting. Changes coming soon, stay tuned! xo
