How finding my style became a shortcut for finding myself after kids.

A convincing case for peeling yourself out of your gym leggings everyday...

Jun 01, 2025

Back in 2019, when I gave birth to my first child, I wore gym leggings for the better part of two years. Perhaps I was a product of my environment. Perhaps I should blame the lengthy Covid lockdowns for the adverse reaction I now have to wearing any kind of spandex for longer than 45 minutes.

Still, there is logic to surrendering to the tyranny of activewear, especially in new motherhood. One obvious functional reason is that mothers are incredibly active. I know I often reach a daily step count of over 10,000 simply by fetching snacks, rocking a nine-kilogram lump to sleep, dancing and singing "toot toot chugga chugga big red car" like an overly enthusiastic, albeit tone-deaf, member of The Wiggles. Not to mention, gym gear remains crease-free and dries almost instantly when baby wiped. These are all critical points to consider when dressing to wrangle small children.

In August 2024, I had my second child, and at around eight weeks postpartum, I peeled myself out of my compression tights and into an outfit I very much enjoyed wearing. My two kids and I were meeting up with our friends who had not yet met the baby. I felt depleted but good. Excited to leave the house and to wear an outfit that was perhaps less functional but more 'me'. When I arrived, my friend quizzed me on where I was going. Baffled by the fact I wore a proper outfit to the playground with two kids in tow. Her questions, while well-meaning, made me feel slightly awkward. But as I glanced around (and reminded myself not to be so self-absorbed), I noticed that the uniform in my local area was, indeed, head-to-toe athleisure. In other words, I was surrounded by an army of Lulus. It appeared that my white slouchy tee, linen pants, and red mesh ballet flats had broken the dress code of spandex and Sambas.

When I got home, I reflected some more won why I felt so exposed. I did not want to wear activewear every day. I had tried that five years ago during my first postpartum. I had attempted to mask my own insecurities, not of my physicality but of my new role as a mother. My first son had reflux. He did not sleep and he screamed for the better part of the first year. This I now know had nothing to do with the way I mothered though at the time it did. As though his wails were a direct reflection of me. I thought, hey I am failing miserably at this new job, but at least I could wear the uniform. I could blend in and remain invisible. I suspect this is why I felt so exposed. That unlike others, my effort was on display for all to gawk at. After all, a mother with a new baby does not and should not wake up like this. Then, I pondered further and decided that the gauche conversations were all part of my evolution. Part of becoming anew. Part of motherhood. I considered wearing something other than the uniform a form of exposure therapy.

Now, I am nine months postpartum (yes, I'm still calling this postpartum). Sitting still somewhat uncomfortably in my body. With two deflated balloons on my chest that have stretched to oblivion when filled with milk, hips that are holding onto those few mulish kilograms, and a rather unsightly varicose vein that runs all the way up on my left inner thigh. But when I analyse how I feel now, in comparison to how I felt after my first child, I am more at ease than I ever thought I could be. What I have learned this time around is that a large part of finding myself again has a lot to do with embracing the joy of getting dressed. No matter what sized I wear or how little sleep or how much spit-up I will inevitably be covered in by day's end. Fundamentally, I have learnt to use fashion as a tool to make me feel good.

In truth, my friend did not intend to make me feel uncomfortable. I was tender and presumably exhausted. That experience has taught me to welcome questions about where I have been or where I am going and understand that it is harmless curiosity. To me, fashion should not be used to conceal but to celebrate. It is a way to reclaim my identity and feel in control, and for many mothers, including myself, getting dressed each day may be the only thing we do that is just for ourselves. What matters is how getting dressed makes me feel. How it makes all of us feel. It's the thrill, the frivolousness, and the sheer delight of wearing a leopard print ballet flat with my Levi's instead of a sneaker or throwing on cashmere sweater rather than cotton. And similarly, it's about how my fashion choices can spark curiosity in others. Giving permission to those who need it to explore their own style. It's about finding joy in the everyday, even amid chaos.

Sartorially, early motherhood (even the second time around) can throw even the most confident of us into a flurry. We're tired, hormones are raging, our bodies ache, and not only do we appear different, we feel different—and let's not forget about the tiny dictators that allow us only small windows of time to perform miracles like faking a good night's sleep and looking presentable to the world in 0.5 seconds flat. When I'm unsure about what to wear, I focus less on aesthetics and more on how I want to feel. I no longer subscribe to sizes, trends or anything that makes me feel negative about myself. I regain control by wearing what I love. Even if that means always being the slightly overdressed mother at the playground.

Jade x

P.S. If you need a little help getting out of your activewear, then feel free to book in a style consult with me. I only have 4 more spaces open for the intro fee of $75USD.