I’m pregnant, how the heck am I meant to dress? 

Ramblings on style and identity from a pregnant woman’s brain. 

As someone who has spent the better part of her life working in fashion, I’ve long had a clear sense of personal style. My friends, family and colleagues could probably describe it easily, as most of what I wear, I wear on repeat. 

My style consists of mostly oversized (blazers, shirts, pants) or strapless pieces (I tend to wear skirts as dresses), with almost nothing in my wardrobe form-fitting. My wardrobe itself is actually pretty small, akin to a capsule wardrobe more than anything. Working in fashion with the brilliant spectrum of designers we have here in Australia, I prefer to save my brain space for them, so I keep what I wear relatively simple. 

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So when I found out I was pregnant, I figured the maternity dressing thing would be a breeze. Most of my wardrobe would already accommodate a growing belly, and with a clearly defined sense of style, I expected I wouldn’t have to compromise. My style would remain my style. 

This notion was pretty important to me. Pregnancy brings with it enormous changes to your body, lifestyle and sense of self, and it’s easy to feel as if your identity is slipping away. 

Style and identity

For me, this loss of identity happened almost immediately. I’d expected nine months to adjust to my new identity as a mother but instead, it felt like the ‘old me’ was ripped away before I was ready and without my consent. 

Almost immediately, I had to bid farewell to my love of running, as a bout of COVID and worsening pelvic pain has meant it’s best for me to walk instead. My love of good food has been replaced by a constant overanalysis of what I can and can’t eat (a thought pattern frighteningly reminiscent of an anorexic brain), and it feels like all my favourite foods are now off-menu. 

Likewise, my amateur interest in wine that I’d cultivated pre-pregnancy was immediately off the cards. This was made all the more difficult last week at a Fashion Journal Supper Club, where colleagues and friends across the industry were all enjoying a glass of Croser and I was made to sit with sparkling water. 

And my daily joy of coffee (that first sip is always one of my favourite parts of the day) was thwarted thanks to food aversions. I was long prepared to cut down my intake, but I was not prepared to be repulsed by it. That part felt cruel. 

Speaking to other first-time pregnant women, it seems many of us face similar struggles. These ‘losses’ are each small in the scheme of things, but they all feed into a bigger narrative around the loss of identity. 

As new mums-to-be, we all have to mourn a part of ourselves that we’ll never get back while embracing a new identity that we might not feel ready for. These feelings are particularly pertinent for those of us who are career-driven and, I would argue, strike even harder for those of us who work in fashion. For fashion people, personal style is so tied to identity. And unless you’re Rihanna, entering motherhood can seem to pose a threat to your personal style. 

Motherhood and fashion

Traditional portraits of motherhood don’t exactly align with fashion. If I close my eyes and conjure an image of a new mother, it’s a caricature of a cis-woman with dirty hair heaped on her head, stained and crumpled clothes rolled up an ankle and falling off a shoulder, and an expression of overwhelm. Or it’s a woman who would happily wipe vomit from her blouse, while considering any career-adjacent achievement as meaningless and childless-working women as naive.

And then, of course, there’s the Bec Judd-esque Yummy Mummy who, while closer on paper to the vision of motherhood I expect for myself, still feels miles away from me. Arguably, though, we have comes leaps and bounds in popular representations of motherhood. We’ve seen women like Rihanna show that pregnancy doesn’t have to mean a compromise in personal style, while Rachel McAdams’ cover shoot for Girls Girls Girls magazine – in which she wore a breast pump – shows that fashion and motherhood (even the most unglamorous bits), can co-exist.  

While groundbreaking, those portrayals of motherhood still feel far-fetched. Personally, I’ve looked a little closer to home for style inspiration, to women embedded in Australia’s fashion industry. The founder of Reliquia Collective and Sueno Communications, Ana Piteira, is one example of a woman who retained her sense of personal style throughout pregnancy and motherhood.

 

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Suku Home founder Chrissy Lafian, fashion marketer Brittany Sison and style consultant Olivia Brown are three more. All seemed to maintain a pregnancy style that felt true to them and each seems to have rejected the notion of what a mother ‘should’ wear. 

 

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Meanwhile, it feels like I’ve been floundering. And I know I’m not alone. Speaking to a colleague who works in fashion PR, we were both lamenting that we don’t know how to dress anymore. In fact, we’re fast approaching the reality that very soon, we’ll quite literally have nothing to wear. 

A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear

Anyone who’s stomped around a bedroom wailing this refrain will know it’s not a catastrophic claim. To exclaim “I have nothing to wear” is to mask a whole series of emotions, as the phrase is intimately tied with self-doubt, self-worth and confidence. 

I’m sure a number of us have been brought to tears because we’ve had nothing to wear. I’m sure some of us have even chosen to forgo seeing loved ones, instead choosing to stay home because it’s easier to miss a party than to try and get dressed. Struggling to dress is a really challenging experience and as many will know, it’s made even harder by a fluctuating body type. 

This is perhaps made worse by a shared aversion to maternity wear. There seems to be a reluctance among those who work in fashion towards buying maternity clothing. It may be an allegiance to our beloved designers or a stigma around maternity clothing, but either way, it seems we believe it’s not for people like us. 

Personally, I can’t bear the thought of buying clothing I’ll only wear for a few months. My reluctance to buy maternity clothing stems from sustainability concerns and my values around shopping and dressing. My general approach to shopping is to think about the purchase for at least one-to-three months (a crazy amount of time, I know) before I buy.

If after that time I’m still in love with the item, and confident I’ll wear it for at least the next three years, I’ll purchase it. I’ve made it a rule never to buy clothing for an occasion (if it’s not in my wardrobe, I will hire or borrow). This means I only buy pieces that I love and has helped me cultivate a wardrobe that really feels like me. 

In practice, this has looked a little different. I almost exclusively wear pants and these, sadly, have not reached around my belly for some time. I’ve had to shop and shop quickly. 

How I’ve approached pregnancy style

As a woman in the fashion industry, I figured I’m better placed than most to navigate pregnancy dressing. So rather than sulk, I decided to step up. My first stop was at a high street chain store, where I knew I could replace my wardrobe without going broke. I could have walked home with plenty of items, but instead left them all in the changeroom. It felt yucky to buy in bulk and throw my money at a global behemoth. 

However, it wasn’t all in vain. Within an hour in the changeroom, I had learnt the silhouettes that work best for my growing bump and enormous boobs (form-fitting on top, skirts on bottom), and those which make me look like a house (anything oversized and flowing with fabric).  

From there, armed with the knowledge of how to better dress for my changing body, I could navigate the stores and designers I love, without falling into the same boyfriend shirt/tailored pants trap I tend towards. Ultimately, I think I’ve done quite well. I’ve managed to stay true to my signature style while broadening what’s in my wardrobe, with pieces that are truly versatile.

I bought a stretchy, ankle-length Wynn Hamlyn dress that’s just as suited to a formal occasion as it is to work (provided I layer a shirt over the top); a bias-cut silk Baum and Pferdgarten skirt with a drawstring waistband that I’ve already worn a thousand times; a stretchy Isa Boulder knit dress that would suit something dressy like a wedding, but can also be layered with a tee underneath or shirt on top, and a cute tennis-style mini from Nagnata to take me right through summer. 

Combined with what I already own, I’m convinced I have enough to see me through my pregnancy, though I have eyes on a few other pieces should I need to expand my wardrobe further. 

For those who are less self-assured, there are options. Rattle is a newly launched consultancy by the aforementioned Olivia Brown, supporting women to develop their personal style into motherhood and beyond. It’s a clear diversion from how mothers are expected to dress and a great option for women who don’t feel at home in maternity stores.

For more pregnancy-style advice, head here.