Last year I realised I had to get my life together. I figured out I couldn’t pretend to be a computer scientist or engineer anymore. I would be destined for a life of instability and constant freelancing in a creative industry. Nevertheless, this was the crossroads I’d come to.

So, the first step: getting an internship. It didn’t take long to land an interview with a music non-profit, and I got off work early and headed over to the meeting. I rushed to my work’s cramped bathroom and changed into my suit, careful not to tread in any questionable puddles with my socks.

After a final flourish and tousle of my hair, I stared back at myself in the tiny mirror. I should have tried it on at home. It wasn’t doing anything for my personality, or even the model intern I was about to be. It was the only option, though. Off I went, through the sweaty October heat, in a travelling salesman’s suit.

Entering through the talk glass doors, I looked for my future boss but all I found was an empty waiting area where I did just that. Finally, I was greeted by an early-thirties man in a flat-cap and band tee. He looked my stupid suit up and down before snapping back into interview mode and motioning up the stairs with a plastic smile.

My thin crew socks played peek-a-boo under my flapping trouser legs, mocking my every step. Two women had risen from their seats, already frowning at my suit. One turned her head subtly toward the other and twitched a mocking smile. It was contagious. The first woman started silently, intermittently laughing. Then the second. Soon, they were both snorting maniacally and pointing at my outfit. My heart sank. In the doorway, the man slapped his knee enthusiastically and wiped away tears of laughter.

I watched their faces glance disinterestedly at a printed out copy of my resume. The man looked up at me, “Any questions?” he half-heartedly blurted out.

“Uh no, I think that covers everything” I choked.

Needless to say, I didn’t get the internship. It was an important lesson however, in wearing what I want to wear. I love fashion, but I dressed like a banker. The next interview, I dressed to impress, wearing a silk shirt and a beautiful double-breasted cashmere suit from Grange Road’s op-shop mecca. Needless to say, I did get the internship.

But it’s not all about getting a job. Fashion is a beautiful, lawless concept which tells people exactly what I want them to know about me, and tells me exactly what I want to know about them.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a hater, and I’m 100% more likely to chat to someone if they aren’t wearing an ill-fitting pair of beige chinos and a 50% polyester Tommy Hilfiger T-Shirt from the Myer sale rack. To misquote George Eliot; “there’s a reason why we judge a book by it’s cover.”

Regardless, clothes mean different things to different people.

I think that fashion is extrinsically tied to profession, but it informs our wider, personal brand and it often exists in the unified ecosystem of our social circles.

But let’s talk about hating! A symbol of overconsumption, the low-quality Ramones shirt often draws the request to name five songs from the artist. Why wear a brand’s logo if it means nothing to you? Maybe because it looks cool, it because its meaning has developed to represent a subculture you identify with. I have no personal connection with Adidas, but I’d wear one of those track jackets over Nike every single time.

On the contrary, band merch can be a heartwarming expression of music-taste, fanbase, and concert-going. It has a whole bunch of meaning to a unique set of people, transcending culture and continents.

People have a look, and it’s through clothing. Business people wear grey, skaters wear baggy, eshays wear TNs and everyone wears Dr. Martens. We are all dressing to impress as much as we’re dressing to fit in. I would even make the bold claim that we’re dressing for others before dressing for ourselves.

Nevertheless, I think it’s a beautiful thing, and something that makes us human.