The Rainbow Outfit

The rainbow outfit. Everyone who knows me or at least follows me on social media knows how much I love the rainbow outfit. They know that I wear it at nearly every opportunity. What they don’t know, at least what most of them don’t, is what a journey that outfit really was.  

I’m a festival girl at heart. Music festivals encourage authenticity, boldness, kindness, love, and self-expression—all of which I desperately needed for so long. But beyond that, there are the outfits. Early on, I became aware of the fact that I was seeing all sorts of bodies wearing all sorts of clothes. I was seeing people having the confidence to wear the clothes that reflect their personality and their spirit. I was baffled by the confidence of these women, women of all different shapes and sizes, wearing as much or as little clothing as their hearts desired. But beyond being baffled, I was deeply envious. I was envious that they could leave the house. I was envious that they weren’t inspecting themselves or constantly adjusting. I was envious that they didn’t appear preoccupied by self-consciousness.  

And then there was me. My night could always be easily ruined by the wrong clothes. Everything needed to sit right on my body, and stay that way. Shirts needed to fall just so to hide my belly. Bodysuits that I wanted to enjoy had to be cut in exactly the right spot to hide the indents between my hips and thighs, an imperfection that has shaken me, even in the days I was thin. I would never, ever wear one without some tights underneath or maybe overalls over it, even in 100 degree heat and the desert sun. Bellbottoms that I love sat untouched because I only like them with crop tops and I was not wearing one of those. Dresses had to line up in the exact right place to minimize my stomach and hip size, slimming me down to a shape that I simply wasn’t.  

I remember long days and even longer nights of pulling at my clothing to keep it in the exact place I wanted it. Pull, adjust, inspect. I remember days where I wouldn’t go in the lake no matter how hot it got because it meant walking around in a bathing suit, uncovered, in a massive crowd of people. I remember inspecting my body, even during shows I didn’t want to miss a single minute of. I remember spending far too long in the port-o-potties, trying to wiggle my way back to things being exactly how they were supposed to be. Pull, adjust, inspect. And I remember knowing that it shouldn’t have to be that way.  

If you’re anything like me, you’ve done the old “I’m going to buy this dress a few sizes too small and get my body ready for it” challenge. I’ve wasted an uncomfortable amount of money on those challenges on clothing I never got to see myself in. It was time for a new challenge. I went on the website for a festival gear store that carries all of the things I loved so much and desperately wanted to feel comfortable in. I ordered a few things that would fit into my old habits and still work if I broke them. But I also ordered… the rainbow outfit. There was no way around that one. That was an all-or-nothing outfit. It’s a pair of bellbottoms that leave little to the imagination, at least in terms of shape, and a “crop top” that I personally would call a bra before I would call it a crop-top. It was adorable! And it was so… me! After years and years of finding clothing I loved and trying to prepare my body for it in a smaller size, I finally found something I loved and ordered it in the size that I already am. This time, it wasn’t my body that I had to prepare. It was my mind, and I was determined and absolutely terrified. 

Waiting for that outfit to arrive was long and agonizing. Maybe I should just return it without even trying it on. It probably won’t fit me right anyway. I will never be able to be seen publicly in that. I don’t have the guts for this. My mind raced with second-guesses and harsh judgments about both my brain and my body. But those thoughts didn’t stop it from showing up where I live. And I’m proud to say that I didn’t let them stop me from trying on the outfit. I tried it on, and it did fit. It fit, but it showcased my biggest insecurities: my stomach, and that damn indent between hip and thigh.  

I didn’t return it.  

Fast forward a few weeks to my next music festival. I did bring the rainbow outfit, along with my usual excessive outfit options (just in case I hate how I look or feel in everything). I was there with my cousin. My cousin who, despite her self-esteem issues, had the body that I had always wanted. Could I wear this and stand next to her? Could we take our pictures together to commemorate our experiences knowing that I was twice her size in an outfit as skimpy as hers? Would I miss out on capturing the beautiful scenery around me? I tried on the outfit for her after telling her about how much I loved it and spoke about my hesitation, asking her, “Can I really wear this thing out?” 

Her response affected me so much more than I ever told her. 

She looked me dead in the eye and said: “How could you not wear it?” 

I wore it. Not only did I wear it that day, but I was a full-on outfit repeater and wore it for both days of the festival.  

The first day I was definitely uncomfortable. We didn’t take very many pictures, which I regretted immediately upon arriving to our (disgusting) motel room at the end of the night. I pulled and adjusted and inspected a lot that day. Nothing I wasn’t used to. But still, my plan to be emotionally ready to wear this outfit didn’t work, and I was feeling utterly defeated. I thought back to some of the women I had seen at the festivals and events I had attended. Why can’t I have that confidence?  

In that moment, with that thought, I flashed back to my high school days of being horribly shy and afraid to talk to people who weren’t already my good friends. Who would even like me? I used to think. But I remembered the day I mentally declared “fuck it!” and began to do the things that made me uncomfortable. I acted confident, and confidence became my reality.  

So again, nearly 10 years later, I declared “fuck it!” and made up my mind. Tomorrow I would wear the outfit again. I would take all the pictures I wanted and not check them 100 times to make sure that I appeared as small as possible, taking up precious time and energy that I wanted to give to my cousin and to the event. I wouldn’t pull and adjust and inspect all day.  

I had the time of my life that day. I got LOTS of compliments, NONE of which included the word “brave” (thank goodness).  

Again, I showed myself that the answer isn’t always preparing yourself. Sometimes, the answer is doing it anyway, even if you’re feeling totally unprepared. There isn’t always a going to be a bright and shiny moment of “readiness” that we so often wait for, and being ready is often very overrated.