In August I attended an in-person writing conference for the first time in three years. It was thrilling to be close to a bunch of writerly folks again after so much time on Zoom calls and in small groups.

I flew to Pennsylvania for HippoCamp and packed my suitcase with care. I wanted to be comfortable the four days I’d be away, sure, but also wanted a conference wardrobe that put me in a mental state of receptivity and ease.

That meant outfits that 1) leveled up from my summer-standard shorts and t-shirts, 2) could be layered, given the conference hotel’s overzealous A/C, 3) that I didn’t have to fuss with, and 4) I felt good in.

It was a fun challenge to pick out options that checked all the boxes and still left me plenty of room in my bag for a conference book haul.

So when I was leaving the lunch buffet banquet room the second day and a woman trotted up to my side and said in an urgent voice, “Tell me about your overalls,” I had to smile.

Illustration of a pair of dark navy blue linen overalls with bow ties at the shoulders and patch pockets on the sides. — I love this illustration by Teresa Wong almost as much as the overalls themselves

I was indeed wearing a pair of navy wide-leg cropped linen overalls over a lightweight long-sleeve tee. I’d bought them earlier in the summer at a boutique in Las Vegas near my Dad’s house. The dresses in the window that had tempted me in were overpriced and/or not that cute on closer inspection, but while perusing the racks I found these linen overalls.

I don’t care that you can’t see my body—I feel free in here.

I have owned exactly one pair of overalls since I was a child, and those were a thrift-store pair I bought when I was six weeks pregnant — not yet big enough for maternity clothes but too uncomfortable for regular waistbands. After about a month I never wore them again.

And as a tall person, I usually avoid wide-leg pants. They have to hit exactly right or my ankles stick out, and exactly right is nearly impossible to find. But I’ve admired the way other women pull off the breezy wide-leg summer look.

These overalls were cropped, though — who’s to say if they were supposed to hit upper calf or lower calf? I tried them on with a t-shirt in the dressing room. They did make me feel breezy and casual. They even had jaunty little bow ties at the shoulders, and handy patch pockets on either side. And the linen was soft and slouchy, not stiff and starchy. I had to have them.

I buy clothes for lots of different reasons. Sometimes it’s utilitarian: a well-fitting pair of jeans or chinos that will go with anything. Sometimes it’s to fill a niche: a pair of hiking shorts that don’t look out of place off the trail. Sometimes it’s just an easy decision — another graphic print tee from my favorite local artist? Yes please.

And sometimes I buy an outfit because I think my husband will like seeing me in it. After nearly thirty years of marriage I’ve got a pretty good sense of what he likes, and it’s fun, on occasion, to dress for someone else.

This was none of that.

I felt summer-sophisticated and comfortably cool in these overalls. But I will admit to feeling a tad self-conscious when I wore them the first few times — it was so outside my usual look.

The overalls’ lack of structure could have made me feel like I was hiding. But on the contrary, the garment’s very formlessness felt like a statement. One that said, I don’t care that you can’t see my body—I feel free in here.

Was I a person who made this kind of statement?

Turns out, yes I am. At least to one fellow writer at the conference.

I had to tell her I’d bought the overalls two thousand miles away at a boutique. She nodded knowingly, with perhaps a note of wistfulness, and we each headed off to our next breakout session.

The short exchange had left me buoyed — there’s nothing like dressing entirely for oneself while also being recognized for it. It felt subversive and very cool.

Plus it gave me the idea to write this post, inspired by who writes the Substack newsletter Closet Dispatch. Her pithy, thoughtful observations on what our clothes say about us are each accompanied by a delightful illustration like the one above. I’ve been a fan of her work since shortly after meeting her at —come to think of it — the HippoCamp conference in 2019. And now I have my very own Teresa Wong original.

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In the realm of brave acts, dressing only for oneself feels pretty small. But there’s a ripple effect. My wardrobe at the conference did help put me in a mental state of receptivity and ease. And that’s not nothing.

What I’m writing

After a bit of a publishing drought in 2022, I had a micro-flash nonfiction piece published last month that I’d been shopping around for some time. I’m so happy it’s found its forever home at Five Minutes.

The jeans were soft, buttery, on my eleven-year-old skin. They weren’t Lees with the wave of stitching on the back pocket that the coolest girls wore. But as I checked out my backside in the mirror on my closet door, I didn’t care.

Click here for the rest of this short piece. And check out the perfect Instagram image they found for the social media shout-out. I’ve been impressed with the publishing experience at Five Minutes — any writing folks that do micro-flash should definitely check them out.

I also performed in a storytelling show at the VAMP showcase of So Say We All this month, which was a fantastic experience as usual. When the video is available I’ll definitely let you know. In the meantime you can catch any of my previous performances at louisejulig.com.

What I’m reading

I recently finished Negative Space 1 by . I read a lot of memoirs, and I was surprised how compelled I was by Dancyger’s narrator protagonist.

Her father, an artist, died when she was just eleven. Negative Space is a memoir of discovery based on her decade-long exploration of his past in hopes of finding new ways to connect with his memory and legacy as an adult. In the process she takes us into her own life as a teenage drop-out in New York City in the the gritty, pre-gentrified East Village as well as the darker aspects of her parents' tumultuous relationship and addictions.

Book cover of Negative Space by Lilly Dancyger

Each chapter kept me rooting for her as she uncovered layer after layer of her father’s past, and I think what kept me so involved in the story was her complete candor about what she found. In the process she evolves her child’s near hero-worship of her father into an adult’s recognition of him as a flawed and nuanced human being. It’s beautiful and quietly moving.

P.S. Bookshop is having a sale on selected books for Native American History Month. Use the code NAHM22 for 10% off through November. I particularly recommend We Are the Land: A History of Native California, and I’ve heard great things about Braiding Sweetgrass.

There you have it, my friends. I hope this issue of Be Your Own Hero gave you something to think about. Do you ever reflect on how your clothes make you feel, what their ripple effect might be in your life? I’d love to hear about it.

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Be Your Own Hero

"Tell me about your overalls"