When fashion stopped being a hobby and started being support

The fancy coat theory and dressing without pressure

Fashion has been a life long interest of mine, I chose it for my ‘personal topics’ even back in Primary school (my lovely Mum saved the exercise books for me), it was something I have always looked at with pleasure and curiosity. Getting dressed became a form of thinking, experimenting, trying things on for the sake of it. I had the time and headspace to play with clothes, to change my mind, to let fashion take up room in my life.

Fashion could afford to be a pastime, and I had the disposable income to support it.

But at some point, without any clear moment or announcement, that changed. I’ve talked about this often with friends from the industry, with and without children, and we all recognise the same shift. A kind of maturity. A life change that alters your relationship with clothes.

Fashion, with a capital F, simply began to take up less mental space, energy and intention.

Looking back, two fairly significant gear changes happened around the same time for me: lockdown and becoming a mother. Both reshaped my wardrobe, and more importantly, what I expected from it.

The impact of staying at home on what we wore and how we consumed has been well documented, but for me that shift never reversed. It didn’t creep back in. What replaced it felt quieter, more practical, and ultimately more sustainable.Life filled up. Responsibilities multiplied. Time became tighter and energy more finite. And fashion slowly stopped being something I did for fun and started needing to serve a different purpose. It needed to support me, not compete with everything else asking for my attention.

I didn’t fall out of love with clothes. I just stopped wanting them to be demanding.

There are, of course, plenty of days now where my dress senseis debatable at best. Days that are purely practical. Days built around being on the floor with the kids, out in the weather, in clothes chosen for comfort, warmth, and ease rather than any kind of expression. And that’s fine. That’s part of real life too, and honestly after decades working in an industry where you were judged by peers and seniors before you even opened your mouth, I take a unusual sense of perverted joy in often traipsing about the place in the worst possible ensemble I can find!

But that doesn’t mean the joy has gone.

I still keep joy in my clothes and in getting dressed, even if it shows up differently now. And I’m conscious of passing that on to my children too. Not in a precious or performative way, but in the everyday sense of noticing clothes, enjoying them, taking pleasure in colour, texture, and how things feel, and importantly for me how they are made and what the fabrics are. The seeds are passed on quietly, by example, in the same way they were passed on to me.

What changed is that I stopped expecting ‘fashion’ to show up in the same way every single day.

I noticed it first in the mornings. Getting dressed began to feel like admin. Another decision layered onto an already full day. Outfits that once felt expressive started to feel slightly uncooperative, not wrong exactly, just not working hard enough for the life I was actually living.

What I needed from fashion shifted.

I still wanted to be interested. I still wanted clothes that felt thoughtful, distinctive, and like a reflection of me. But I no longer wanted to build an entire outfit from scratch every day. I didn’t want fashion to require explanation or justification or effort for effort’s sake.

Support, it turns out, doesn’t mean boring. For me, fashion as support looks like fewer pieces doing more of the work. It looks like investing in things that hold their own. A coat with presence. A jacket with structure. Something that can carry an outfit without asking much else of you.

That’s why statement outerwear has always made sense to me. A strong coat over simple, familiar clothes gives you interest without complication. You can wear the same trousers, the same knit, the same boots, and still feel intentional. Still feel like yourself. Still feel dressed.

I’ve read about the “fancy coat theory” and I’m a big advocate. A really great coat can be paired with almost anything, especially joggers or lounge pants, and it instantly looks cool. High-low dressing is such a big movement now and feels far more modern to me than looking overly done.

My favourite icons for this are Zoë Kravitz (basically a goddess) and Jennifer Lawrence, who for me is the epitome of cool mum style. While her budget is one most of us can only dream of, her day-to-day looks feel practical, achievable in spirit, and genuinely real, which somehow makes her even more endearing.The support comes not from stripping everything back to nothing, but from being deliberate about where the energy goes.

Fashion stopped being a hobby when ease, comfort and repeat wear became non-negotiable. Not because I stopped loving it, but because I stopped needing it to prove anything for me.

That shift hasn’t made fashion smaller in my life. If anything, it’s made it more precise.

I care more now about how things are made, who makes them, and how they hold up over time. I’m happier investing in fewer pieces when they’re well considered, well made, and genuinely wearable. I want clothes that feel like mine, not generic, but not demanding either.

I still love fashion. What’s gone is the sense of needing to show up in a look. Now it’s there to support me, to serve me, and I’ve realised how open that idea really is. It doesn’t have to mean big-name brands, the colour of the season, or ticking the right boxes.My personal style is quite eclectic, but the rule is simple: if I like it, I wear it.

Support, I’ve learned, isn’t a downgrade. It isn’t a loss of creativity or interest. It’s a different relationship altogether.

Fashion as support is quieter. More companionable. It sits alongside your life rather than sitting on top of it. It doesn’t need to be the main character, but it still matters.

And maybe that’s the point.

When fashion stops being a hobby, it doesn’t stop being important. It just starts doing a better job of holding you up.