I’m a young mum who loves clothes, so why do I feel like fashion isn’t for me anymore?

I feel left behind by the industry I once lived and died for.

Standing naked in my wardrobe in front of a full-length mirror, I’m afraid to turn on the downlights. What was once a briefly confronting experience, comprising a quick transition from nude to fully clothed, now stretches on. I stare at my cupboards like one might gaze into the fridge at midnight, hungry, but for what?

I’ve lost my taste for clothes that threaten even a hint of discomfort. I stare at my jeans drawer, overflowing with various washes and styles, and wonder why I’d ever do that to myself.

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My body has changed, sure, but not nearly as much as what has shifted on the inside. I have a new identity, I’ve taken on a new full-time role – motherhood – with no training and to be honest, abysmal pay. My day-to-day looks completely different to before. I’ve evolved, and I suppose it’s only natural that my wardrobe would need to evolve with me. But that’s the problem, it hasn’t.

Dressing myself these days feels like a heavyweight fight. I never realised just how present you must be to put together a good outfit. It used to take me approximately three minutes, but now the process drags out over the morning. I have to stop and attend to my toddler smearing Vegemite toast up and down my walk-in or demanding, ‘Cuddle, cuddle, CUDDLE’ while I jump up and down getting into my jeans.

It feels like I’ve stepped out of the ring for too long and I no longer know my weight class. In pregnancy, I spent almost 10 months watching my wardrobe dwindle down to just a few options, and by the last few weeks, it was just one trusty, stretchy ensemble. Then there was a year of negotiating sensitivity around my Cesarean scar, alternating bleeding and leaking nipples, and abundant spit-up stains.

Naturally, I adopted the new-mum uniform – oversized T-shirts, yoga pants, comfy shoes and a trusty top knot. It’s comfortable, it’s safe and people smile at you with your baby. It all just fits. That stuff is to be expected when you’re living in the land of new motherhood, and at the time, dressing to support the fact your body is in almost 24-hour demand feels necessary.

Now I’m well and truly back to ‘me’, but my wardrobe isn’t. I miss the days I had a party or event and I would plan what I would wear up to a week in advance, texting friends for advice, trying on options with different shoes and accessories.

Walking around high street shops now, it feels like clothes are no longer made for me. What’s fashionable just won’t fit in with my new identity. Sure, I’m back at work, but I’m also always on duty as a mum. At a moment’s notice, I might be required to contort myself into unholy shapes to retrieve an all-important Duplo piece from under the couch. Or race to the end of the hallway and back 65 times while singing ‘Baby Shark’.

My shoulder might be needed for a teary goodbye at daycare drop-off inevitably mixed in with some peanut butter I forgot to wipe off his mouth. These new activities colour my days and I yearn to find something to wear that will honour this all-important work, while still making me feel, well, fly!

Because despite being a mum to a toddler, I’m also a young(ish) woman. I still want to feel good in my body, and what I’m wearing has a lot of say in that. Yet a part of me feels like that’s no longer allowed. I want to wear the sexy thing – the tight dress, the crop top, the high-heeled boots – but something stops me. “That’s not for you anymore,” a voice that sounds suspiciously like misogyny whispers as I abashedly slide the slinky skirt back on the rack.

It’s not just the patriarchy sending me clear messages about where I now ‘fit’ in the order of things. It’s also fashion itself! Yes, looser-fitting jeans are ‘in’ and that’s great, but the waistband still digs into my stomach when I sit. At least my skinny jeans were stretchy as all hell and somewhat counterintuitively felt more comfortable.

I love the oversized shirt look with a cute little suit vest over it, but that shirt would be creased, stained or torn within 15 minutes of it landing on my skin thanks to a zealous little boy I now call my son. Knits are great but my lord do they pill. I love, love, love leather skirts and mini kilts but honestly, I just feel like an imposter wearing them now.

To be clear, I’m not okay with this new side of myself. I refuse to lose my love of fashion because of my identity shift, and that’s why I’m here yelling about it. So maybe it’s time to channel my creativity into solving this problem. Not just for me, but for all the mums who feel left behind by the industry they once lived and died for. It’s officially day one of my wardrobe rehabilitation program. I know I can find my way back to something that feels like ‘me’ again.

Tap here to read about navigating fashion conventions as a new mum.