This post is part of the “Practical Unmasking” series, where I explore how unmasking shows up in real life, from everyday choices to big life transitions. You’ll find a mix of personal reflections, guest perspectives, and tools rooted in Acceptance and Commitment Coaching and the SAFE Unmasking™ process. While many posts reflect neurodivergent and trauma-informed perspectives, the insights can apply broadly. Wherever you are in your journey, I hope you’ll find something here that supports you.
To read the first post in this series, learn all about masking, and why we all do it, click the button below.
To catch up on the previous post in the Practical Unmasking series, ‘Practical Unmasking: Helping as Hiding,’ click the button below.
To check out a list of my series with descriptions and links, click below.
[Practical Unmasking: What to Wear]
During the pandemic, between family meetups, therapy sessions, and relentless heat, I started doing something that would bring me unexpected relief: I started dressing for me. I didn’t know this was part of unmasking because I didn’t even know what masking was. Looking back, I had spent most of my life performing and adjusting myself to meet what I thought others expected. In doing so, I lost track of what I wanted, what I liked, and what I needed. I couldn’t even answer the question, “What do I want to wear?”
Feeling discomfort with clothes was nothing new. When I was a kid, I hated dressing for church. The clothes felt stiff and restricting. Sunday mornings came with a familiar dread. I knew I’d be expected to wear clothes that made my skin crawl: tight-collared shirts, stiff belts that pinched when I sat, pants made of scratchy fabric. The tie was the most unbearable piece. Even a clip-on felt like a noose. I couldn’t wait to peel it all off the second I got home. Even now, as an adult, the same feeling returns whenever I have to dress up for a formal event. What I once chalked up to eccentricity or a hatred of formalwear, I now recognize as part of my sensory experience.
Fast forward to the pandemic. We were meeting with family and friends outdoors. No indoor gatherings. Acute anxiety about COVID. A whole layer of social stress just existing in a group. I live in the tropics, and outdoor gatherings often mean stifling heat. I’ve been heat sensitive for as long as I can remember, long before I moved here. When I lived in Chicago, some friends and I came up with a name for those overwhelming experiences of uncontrollable sweating: “big sweaty moments,” or BSMs. It’s always the same: by the time I feel the heat, it’s already too late. I’m sweating, uncomfortable, and overstimulated. I’d show up drenched and then spiral.
My mind races when this happens in social situations. Why am I the only one struggling with this? Can they see how much I’m sweating? It’s difficult to focus. I want to leave. There’s a strong sense of embarrassment. I’m pushing my limits. All of that stress hits before we even get to the conversation part, where I try to follow along in Spanish at social events here in Yucatán, manage sensory overload, and keep up with a million social cues at once. It’s unsustainable.
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After a few of these sweaty, anxiety-ridden gatherings, I decided I was going to wear whatever felt comfortable. I allowed myself to put the demand for variety on the back burner. One day, combining a breathable linen-blend shirt and a pair of athletic shorts that moved with me felt better. So, I wore them at the next social event and the event after that. I realized I could just keep wearing them. I washed and folded them after every use, ready for the next. No one seemed to notice. Nobody said anything. Even if they had, I didn’t care. My experiences validated prioritizing my comfort. The bonus was that it freed up energy to manage other challenges related to social interactions. It was a win-win situation.
The comfort I found in my “pandemic outfit” inspired me to streamline my clothing choices. This led to building a small capsule wardrobe of quality pieces: black v-neck t-shirts with stretch, comfortable shorts, a pair of jeans, a pair of khakis, a guayabera for formal events, and one pair each of tennis shoes, casual oxfords, and sandals. My undergarments were narrowed down to one style and color of underwear along with a small selection of socks for a splash of color. Items that couldn’t be altered to fit my husband’s size were given away. Letting go of excess clothing was freeing. This simple, intentional wardrobe was all I needed.
That shift was about more than just clothes. Without realizing it, I was unmasking. I stopped forcing myself to dress for appearances at the expense of what my body needed. I used to worry about varying my outfits so I wouldn’t seem “strange.” These days, I dress for comfort, not for approval. Surviving in the wrong clothes is exhausting. Feeling safe in what I wear feels entirely different.
When you are told as a child that you’re too much, whether that means too sensitive, too rigid, too loud, or too disorganized, you learn to mask. You try to be smaller, quieter, and more flexible. Over time, the pressure to hide who you are grows beyond the parts you struggle with most. Each small mask builds on the last. You might cover up shame in one area by changing how you present yourself in another. You dress to avoid judgment, to seem competent, and to survive. On top of that, the gay community often adds unreasonable pressure to look fashionable. For a long time, I hoped that getting my look right could make up for everything else. I thought being stylish might earn me acceptance or cover the ways I seemed to make others uncomfortable. I eventually realized it didn’t work that way. No amount of approval eased the deeper discomfort. Letting go of that battle was a relief.
A capsule wardrobe doesn’t fix everything, but it means fewer decisions and less stress. It’s a small way to move out of survival mode. These micro-adjustments add up. Other ways of unmasking have followed. Cooling myself in public with a foldable hand fan, even though they are often seen as feminine, is one example. Saying no to social events when energy is low is another. Scheduling downtime before and after socializing helps manage overwhelm. Allowing myself to stim or regulate without shame brings further relief. Each of these choices adds a few more degrees of comfort, and those degrees matter.
For those tired of masking but not ready to disclose or still unsure about their neurodivergence, changing what you wear can be a gentle way to start unmasking. You don’t need to justify it or explain yourself. You can simply say, “I’m minimizing my closet,” or “Comfort is important to me,” or “I like having a go-to outfit.” No approval required. Do what feels best for you. Choosing what to wear doesn’t have to be exhausting. If the thought of dressing up feels overwhelming, if you’re burned out or uncomfortable most of the time, try simplifying. Stick to a few pieces that bring you comfort and confidence. Wear them on repeat without guilt. You don’t have to announce it or have it all figured out. Just begin with what feels easiest.
That’s unmasking, too.
Dressing for You: Questions to Consider on Your Unmasking Journey
Unmasking doesn’t always mean big, dramatic changes. Often, it begins with small, everyday choices like what you wear. Taking time to reflect on how your clothing and presentation affect your wellbeing can be a powerful step toward feeling more like yourself. Designed to encourage gentle self-exploration, these questions can be used in journaling, coaching, therapy, or support groups as you find safe and comfortable ways to unmask. You don’t need to disclose your neurodivergence to unmask in this way. It’s simply about honoring your needs and feeling more at ease.
How do the clothes I wear make me feel throughout the day? Comfortable, constrained, or something else?
Are there outfits I reach for because they help me feel more like myself?
When have I dressed to please others instead of honoring my own needs?
What small changes in my wardrobe could reduce my daily stress or sensory discomfort?
What permission do I need to give myself to start unmasking through my wardrobe?
Free unmasking resources on my website
If this post spoke to you, I invite you to visit my website where you can download free, practical guides designed to support your unmasking journey and deepen your understanding of neurodivergence. These resources are created with care for late-diagnosed autistic and ADHD adults, their allies, and anyone seeking compassionate tools to live more authentically.
Explore the full collection of PDFs, grounded in lived experience and the SAFE Unmasking™ and Acceptance and Commitment Coaching frameworks. Whether you’re starting out or looking for fresh insights, these guides offer clear, gentle support to help you build what lasts and live with greater clarity and confidence.
Here’s a glimpse of what you’ll find:
Meltdowns: A Guide for Autistics & Allies: Break down what happens before, during, and after meltdowns. Learn how to reduce shame, recognize triggers, and respond with empathy whether you’re autistic or supporting someone who is.
How To Support SAFE Unmasking™: A quick-start resource for allies of late-diagnosed autistic adults. Discover how to create safe spaces, offer compassionate support, and respect the pace of unmasking without pressure or judgment.
Finding SAFE Unmasking™ Spaces: Practical strategies to identify and create environments where you feel comfortable being your authentic self. Explore ways to build emotional, physical, and social safety that honor your needs.
The Value of SAFE Unmasking™: A guide for newly diagnosed autistic adults navigating their journey. Learn why unmasking matters, how it can improve your well-being, and how to take small steps toward living more authentically on your terms.
This is about what works for you. Honor what helps, and set the rest aside.
Click the button below to get your free guides and start exploring.
The black V-neck T-shirt is practically my uniform. I love them.
I'm always reminded of the scene in David Cronenberg's The Fly where Jeff Golblum reveals his wardrobe filled with about 20 grey suits, all the same, explaining that he doesn't want to expend mental energy deciding what to wear.