My Husband Dressed Me For a Week, and It Changed the Way I Dress Myself

I awoke Monday morning before my alarm — something that never happens for this habitual snoozer. The anxiety was already kicking in, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time to settle into the outfit my husband had chosen.

To keep things efficient, we "shopped" my closet the night before. The first thing he asked me: "Where are all of your high-waisted bell-bottom things?" I tried my best to keep my poker face, but inside I was giddy that I would get to wear my flares. Not so fast, Hannah. Once I pointed to the shelf where they were folded, he replied, "Perfect, now I know what section to avoid all week."

Instead of my beloved bell-bottoms, he pulled a silk Tibi jumper — OK, a look I also love. He also reached for a favorite pair of shoes, also from Tibi, before looking for my approval: "These go together, right?" (Right, as if I really had a say in all this.) "I've seen you wear them together." I was impressed but tried to keep my reaction in check. I was afraid a reaction too dramatic in either direction would cause him to change course. Best to stay calm as he delivered the final touch, a white blazer from Zara that I hadn't worn in at least a year. "I know you like to wear your leather jacket with this look," he said, "but you have a meeting today, and blazers are better for meetings." Noted.

On Tuesday, we had a more interesting start. Thomas had selected a black eyelet-lace top and a pair of skinny jeans. He insisted I carry my Céline tote to complete the outfit and was super excited about a pair of bright red pumps (a too-tight pair I had intentionally forgotten in the depths of my closet). I tried to fight it: "Those are not my favorite," I stated pretty diplomatically. "Sorry, this outfit really needs a pop of color." When I looked up, I half expected to see Brad Goreski. Getting cocky, are we? Clearly he was settling into his role as stylist, while I was becoming more uncomfortable, quite literally. The shoes pinched my feet, and the top seemed a tad too short for the waistline of my jeans. I really didn't want to look like I was wearing a crop top. It seemed such a random selection of pieces, but once I was fully dressed, his real motives became clear. I had added an undershirt (as you do) to wear the very sheer, lace top to my office. My husband was not impressed. "I thought the whole point of the shirt was that it's sheer," he argued. Nope, nice try. I stuck to my guns and kept the tank on for work, but I hated my outfit the whole day. It's not the way I typically dress for my shape — or really, my personality. I always seek a little balance, and this look just felt head-to-toe flirty, and not so flattering.

I was shocked when my husband pulled out a full, high-waisted skirt from Zara that I've loved and worn religiously for two years. After yesterday, could it be? Were we actually on the same page? He even picked the tailored crop top I've worn with it so many times, adding, "You can wear a crop top to work because I've seen you wear this one before."

When it came time to accessorize, I noticed my stylist husband was getting more particular. He pulled out a new bag from our trip to Italy — one I hadn't even used yet! "It's brown, so it goes with your brown shoes." He had a point. I walked out the door, feeling confident and pulled together. At the office, my colleagues applauded my hubby's handiwork. He had fully redeemed himself from the day before. But I was already feeling anxious about picking the next outfit.

I braced myself for the worst as my husband and I headed to pick out outfits Wednesday night. I thought so much about the clothes I hadn't gotten to wear that week — a new pair of sneakers, still sitting in their box; a denim sheath dress I knew he wouldn't like. I felt totally out of control. I had also been wearing heels all week, and that's something I never do. But my husband seemed to not so subtly be sending me a message to step up my game, and Thursday was no different.

We were attending a gallery opening together after work, and he was eager to dress me for the occasion. "Where are your work dresses?" he asked. I pointed and he swiped through the racks, shaking his head (not totally excited with the selection of covered-up, office-appropriate options). Finally, he plucked a leather fit-and-flare dress from the racks with a triumphant smile and threw in my favorite Tibi sandals and Céline bag again for good measure. He did, however, suggest I mix up my jewelry and traded my armful of bangles for a hammered metal cuff. I didn't even realize he was paying such close attention. I seem to have underestimated him.

I prayed for flats on Friday. My husband knows I typically reach for jeans and sneakers or even glorified sweatpants (read: joggers) if I can get away with it at work. But after a week teetering around in heels, I figured a Friday reprieve was unlikely. Again, I underestimated his style savvy. He had been saving a favorite sweatshirt of mine (a punny Bay Area novelty pullover) that was, in his words, "perfect for casual Friday because it's still, like, cool enough to show that you didn't just wear what you wore to SoulCycle." As for what to wear with it, he selected ripped black skinnies, my trusty tote, and my Isabel Marant sneakers. They had also been forgotten in my closet as they lost favor with the style crowd, replaced by Stan Smiths and everyday Nikes; unbeknownst to me, Thomas was hoping for their comeback.

I didn't hate my Friday outfit, but it didn't totally feel like me. That's pretty much how I felt the entire week, like I was masquerading as someone else — even in my own clothes.

OK, so no look was my perfect outfit, but none of them was "bad" or embarrassing. He surprised me, pushing me out of my comfort zone, particularly as far as footwear was considered. It made me more self-aware — and not in a bad way. I thought more about the image I was presenting to the world when I got dressed, and it made me appreciate my ability to do that every day.

I was excited about my closet again, and instead of thinking "I have nothing to wear," I was newly inspired with all the pieces I had forgotten about or hadn't gotten to wear the week my husband dressed me. So, am I likely to do it again? Maybe when I need a few extra minutes to snooze, but for now, the thought of dressing myself in whatever I want is enough to get this fashion-lover out of bed.

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