I am tired. Some of it has to do with sleep or lack thereof, but also in part from that exhaustion you get when you come to the realisation that you are done performing.
I talked about this in The Refusal Wardrobe, and this was something that I felt would benefit from further conversation and would make a good series.
It is in the tiredness I feel when I have paced in front of my closet for the third time and feel nothing but vague dissatisfaction.
It’s there in the mental calculation I run before leaving the house: will this read as put-together, will this be appropriate, will this be enough?
It’s in the way I have learned to describe my own style in safe, palatable terms that people can understand.
Words that mean, if you read between them: I have made myself easy to look at.
I am sure that I am not the only one who feels this way.
That at some point, without quite noticing, dressing stopped being something you did and became something you performed.
This is not a series about trends. It is not going to tell you what colours are having a moment or which silhouette is replacing the last silhouette.
There are plenty of places that will do that for you, and they will do it again in three months when the answer changes.
This is a series about what happens when you stop performing.
It turns out there are stages.
The first looks like loosening your grip. Still chic, still you, but less controlled, less optimised, less anxious about the result.
The second looks like something more conscious: a quiet turning away from the things you were dressing for without ever deciding to.
The third looks, from the outside, like confidence. From the inside, it feels more like relief.
Over the next few weeks, we’re going through all three.
Each part is a capsule wardrobe. Each capsule is built around a different kind of woman…or maybe a different version of the same woman, at a different point in the same process.
They share a reference point: the increasingly radical act of dressing like yourself. Not your aspirational self, not your most palatable self. Just the actual one.
The clothes are real, with some thrifted, because the whole premise collapses if you have to spend a lot of money to opt out of something.
We start today with Part One: The Refined Dirtbag Summer Capsule. The woman who is loosening her grip.
Still pulled together enough that nobody clocks the shift yet. But something has changed; you can feel it in the way she’s stopped ironing things.
Welcome to the other side of trying so hard.
Hole Band Tee | Vintage Levis | Hobo Bag | Pink Mules | Silver Hoop Earrings | Vintage Tailcoat | Pink Flats | Navy Blue Slip Dress | Camel Sweater | Flip Flops | Jumbo Clutch | White Dress | Short Sleeve Cardigan | White Button Up | Grey T-shirt | Plaid Shirt | Wide Leg Trousers | Red Barrel Bag | Black Loafers | Sunglasses | Silk Bermuda Shorts | Satin Camisole | Sneakers
We are searching for a specific kind of chic. One that cannot be purchased entirely new. Your closet won’t be a constant rotation of the newest items.
A woman in a men’s shirt and vintage Levi’s who looks more interesting than anyone in that same room who tried harder.
Her shirt is wrinkled. Her sandals are scuffed. Her sunglasses are slightly crooked because she shoved them into a slouchy bag filled with books, receipts, and probably an old peach rolling around at the bottom.
Her hair is doing whatever humidity decided it should do that day. She looks a little tired. Maybe a little emotionally unavailable.
She is not dishevelled. She is not styled. Not “clean girl.” Not resort wear perfection standing beside a bowl of lemons in a rented villa. She looks lived in.
Like a real person with a real life. Like she got dressed for herself instead of for evidence.
This is the first stage of After the Performance. It is not a full exit yet, more like loosening your grip. Still chic, still considered, but less controlled. Less optimized.
The anxiety about the result has started to lift, and what’s underneath is something that looks, from the outside, like effortlessness and feels, from the inside, like relief.
The Refined Dirtbag is not messy. She is anti-performance. There is a difference, and it matters.
Some people might get offended by the title of dirtbag, but I thought it was applicable and a little tongue-in-cheek.
The name is intentionally contradictory because the style itself is contradictory.
It sits somewhere between elegance and neglect. Between effort and carelessness. Between masculinity and softness.
It borrows from old menswear, 90s minimalism, roadside Americana, indie sleaze, coastal practicality, and the kind of understated styling that cannot really be purchased because it relies more on attitude than consumption.
This is not about looking messy for the sake of messiness. It is not “frazzled.” It is not chaos. The magic comes from contrast.
A beautifully cut cotton wide leg trouser paired with a washed-out t-shirt. A plaid shirt over silk Bermuda shorts. I’m wearing a plaid shirt with silk/satin Bermudas here because I, too, am a refined dirtbag, and I would never recommend something that I wouldn’t wear myself.
Maybe silver earrings worn with an old baseball cap (I have this hat, but mine is black). A black or navy slip dress with flip flops that look like they have survived several emotionally significant summers.
The Refined Dirtbag woman still cares about style. Deeply. She just no longer wants to look overworked by it.
And after years of hyper-curated aesthetics, algorithmic sameness, and social media turning “effortless” dressing into another impossible performance standard, this might feel incredibly refreshing to you.
The Triangle
The first point of the triangle is early Kate Moss off-duty. Not the supermodel version, just the woman.
The one photographed at airports and music festivals and leaving restaurants at 2 am, always in some combination of vintage denim and a worn-in tee that never seems to look as good on you.
The clothes were real clothes. They’d been lived in. That was the whole point.
The second is Lou Reed. Specifically, the version who looked like he’d gotten dressed in the dark and yet still produced an outfit that was cooler than anything anyone else had deliberately assembled.
Slim black jeans, a leather jacket that had been through something, a t-shirt that was just a t-shirt. The menswear borrowing here is not ironic. It’s just practical, and it happens to look exactly right.
The third is old J.Crew catalogues. Not the recent ones, the early ones, the ones that had a kind of accidental ease to them that modern styling often lacks. Shirts were rumpled. Hair moved in the wind. People looked like they had actual personalities
There’s a faded Americana quality to those images that this capsule lives inside: slightly coastal, slightly workwear, completely unbothered.
Roadside diners. Indie films where nobody’s outfit is a costume. A gas station on a coastal highway at 7 am. That’s the world this wardrobe belongs to.
The Wardrobe, Loosely
The Refined Dirtbag capsule is built on a simple premise: the clothes have been somewhere. They’ve done something.
They are not performing newness, polish, or effort. They are just good clothes that have been worn enough to know how to move.
The palette is yours to decide. It should evolve as you evolve. In the summer version, I expect to see washed-out whites, sun-bleached denim, olive, black that has gone slightly grey from washing, and maybe an occasional stripe.
Everything should be a little muted and worn-looking.
When colour appears, it should feel slightly nostalgic rather than sharp. A faded green baseball cap. An old red rugby shirt. A pale yellow tank that looks like it has survived ten summers already.
Maybe something bright will be added for impact like shoes or a bag. You have embrace your own path this wardrobe will take.
We want a lot of interest to come from texture and wear as well. Texture matters just as much as colour here.
Crinkled linen. Soft cotton jersey. Mesh. Nylon windbreakers. Old denim. Lightweight canvas. Clothing that wrinkles, collapses, softens, and moves.
Your wardrobe not looking all sparkly and new is a key here. Your clothes are meant to be worn. That is the purpose.
The silhouette borrows from menswear without commenting on it.
Straight-leg or slightly wide-leg denim. An oversized shirt that may actually be a man’s shirt. A t-shirt in a weight that has some presence.
Nothing cinched, nothing structured, nothing that requires maintenance.
She dressed in under five minutes, and it took her twenty years to be able to do that.
The Sourcing
Vintage Levi’s, straight or slightly wide leg. The backbone of the capsule. Thrifted, faded to the right degree, worn enough that they’ve figured out how to sit on her body.
Not distressed in the manufactured sense, just old. These go with everything and anchor every outfit in the capsule.
An oversized faded t-shirt. Band tee, plain white, washed-out grey. The specific item matters less than the quality of the fade and the weight of the fabric.
Something that has been washed fifty times and looks better for it. This is the piece that makes the whole capsule work.
A men’s oxford shirt, worn open. Thrifted from the men’s section, slightly too large, in a white or pale blue that has gone a little soft from washing.
Worn open over the tee, half-tucked into the Levi’s, sleeves rolled. This is the Lou Reed piece which always looks good no matter how you wear it.
A simple linen, cotton, or silk dress. Or one of each. One size too big, so it hangs, not hugs. Worn with flat sandals or sneakers, rarely with anything that elevates it into occasion wear unless of course you need occasion wear or want some strong contrast.
This will work in a pinch because that is the point of having a well-rounded wardrobe.
One good vintage denim jacket or blazer. From the men’s or women’s section depending on what you find. Not worn ironically, not worn as a statement, but worn because it’s the right layer for a summer evening when the temperature drops, and you grabbed the thing closest to the door.
I went with a vintage tailcoat because I love the look of them and they are so versatile.
Sneakers or worn-in leather sandals. Not trend sneakers in a vibrant colour or pattern. Something that has been walked in. Low-profile, slightly battered, completely uninterested in being noticed.
A canvas tote or slouchy leather/suede bag. Functional. Not something you are scared to actually use. The kind of bag that goes everywhere and accumulates small evidence of a life actually being lived.
Maybe add something bright and colourful for some visual interest, and something like this extra large clutch to make an impact,
Some Minimal Accessories. These will help to up the chic factor if you get some classic black sunglasses, and some silver hoops. Keep it simple and pared back.
On Thrifting
This may be one of the best aesthetics for secondhand shopping because imperfection actually enhances it.
A faded black t-shirt is better than a brand-new one. Softened denim is better than stiff denim.
Old men’s shirts often look better than modern oversized shirts trying too hard to imitate authenticity.
This style rewards history.
It also makes summer dressing feel less financially exhausting because the goal is not to constantly appear “new.”
In many ways, the Refined Dirtbag aesthetic rejects the modern pressure for perpetual visual freshness.
Repeating outfits becomes part of the charm.
Wearing the same oversized striped shirt three times a week will feel chic instead of lazy once you change your mindset and learn to let go.
The Levi’s: any thrift store, men’s or women’s section. You’re looking for a fade that happened naturally over years, not one that was manufactured. Hold them up to the light. If they look artificially distressed, keep looking.
The tee: your own drawer, ideally. Failing that, thrift. You want something with actual history like a real band tee from a show someone actually attended, a plain tee that has simply been washed into softness.
The graphic and the fade should look like they belong to the same era.
The oxford shirt: men’s section, every time. Try on several. The fit should be generously wrong in a way that works. Too long, slightly too wide in the shoulder, the sleeves a bit much when unrolled. That’s the one.
The denim jacket or blazer/tailcoat: thrift, estate sales, your dad’s closet. Vintage Levi’s or Lee for the denim if you can find it. The older the better.
Getting Dressed
The Default Setting: Vintage Levi’s + oversized faded tee + mules + hobo bag. This is the outfit she puts on without thinking. It is also, inexplicably, the best thing she wears all week.
The One That Works Everywhere: Dress + worn-in sandals + jacket/blazer thrown over. Three things. Nothing coordinated. Goes from a farmers market to a gallery opening without having to think about it.
The Lou Reed: Men’s oxford open over a plain tee + straight-leg Levi’s + flat sandals. The proportion is generous throughout.
Nothing is tucked in except maybe the front of the shirt, accidentally.
The Coastal Highway: Vintage tee + loose fitting shorts if you have them, straight leg if you don’t + sneakers + and a hobo with something sticking out of it.
This outfit has been on a road trip. It looks like it.
What This is Not
This is not the carefully curated “undone” look that takes forty-five minutes and three products to achieve. It is not normcore as a fashion statement. It is not thrift as a personality.
It is simply what happens when a woman stops spending energy on the result and starts spending it on the living. The clothes follow. They always do.
Next week: Part Two. The Soft Rebellion Summer Capsule. The shift gets more conscious. The disengagement becomes intentional. The woman who is no longer simply relaxed, she is actively, quietly turning away.
The Refined Dirtbag Summer Outfit Ideas
Hole Band Tee | Vintage Levis | Hobo Bag | Pink Mules | Silver Hoop Earrings | Vintage Tailcoat | Pink Flats | Navy Blue Slip Dress | Camel Sweater | Flip Flops | Jumbo Clutch | White Dress | Short Sleeve Cardigan | White Button Up | Grey T-shirt | Plaid Shirt | Wide Leg Trousers | Red Barrel Bag | Black Loafers | Sunglasses | Silk Bermuda Shorts | Satin Camisole | Sneakers
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