Dressing the Self: What makes clothing an outfit or a costume?

Photo by Diane Picchiottino, via unsplash

What makes a costume a costume? When we look at a clown or trick-or-treating kids, there’s no question they are wearing costumes. However, the line between costume and outfit is not always so obvious. Let’s take the Met Gala. Each year, celebrities arrive dressed according to a chosen theme, ranging from “Heavenly Bodies” to “Camp,” from “Gilded Glamour” to “Karl Lagerfeld.” With a specific theme each year, attendees must wear costumes. Right? Not necessarily. Most make the theme their own, bringing in their authentic style and showing up in looks that are worn more like outfits than costumes.

We can sense when someone has made the costume their own, when the theatrical becomes personal, and the outfit no longer imitates but expresses. This blurring of lines between outfit and costume doesn’t just play out on red carpets. It plays out in everyday life too: in fitting rooms, trend cycles, and those quiet moments when we put something on and think, this isn’t me. What exactly are we feeling then? What makes an outfit feel like a costume? Some items, such as a red nose or a crown, are obviously part of a costume, but costumes can be everyday clothes too. A pair of boots can be part of the office look, but if we make them bright red, they look a lot like a costume on someone with a quiet, elegant style. When an item is not authentic to the wearer, it feels like a costume. It imitates an identity that is not fully lived, and an outfit is the integration of the clothes and the self. In this sense, the difference between an outfit and a costume is not a matter of appearance, but of existential weight: being versus imitation. An outfit becomes a costume when it ceases to express an integrated identity and instead represents an identity at a distance, transforming the act of dressing from a manifestation of being into a simulation of appearance.

An outfit is the external expression of our internal life. It reflects our identity; it is natural to who we are. We can sense this when trying on clothes. We recognise this intuitively; clothes that fit our style and feel as if they belong to us even before stepping into them. We can also sense this when looking at others, clothes seamlessly fit their body like a second skin. An outfit, in this sense, is not distant from who we are; it is an expansion of us. It doesn’t say ‘as if’; it simply just ‘is’. In 2019, Kim Kardashian wore a Thierry Mugler gown to the Met Gala (See the look here). The theme that year was ‘Notes on Camp,’ calling for exaggeration. Dressed in a dripping-wet gown with a super-sinched waist, she posed as a ‘Californian girl stepping out of the ocean’. The look was performative, yet that Californian girl was unmistakably Kim. Her black hair and body-conscious fit draw from her established style. The dress didn’t disguise or create a character, instead it amplified her. It was not a costume, but an outfit, an expression, not an imitation.

A costume, however, is the external expression of an identity not integrated with the self. It imitates rather than expresses, creating a distance between the wearer and the person the clothing projects. A costume signals “as if” rather than “is”, suggesting a persona without necessarily embodying it. We recognise this distance intuitively, in the awkward self-consciousness that arises when we dress in ways that feel theatrical or alien to our sense of self. In this sense, a costume is not merely clothing but a mask, a staging of identity rather than its manifestation. A costume does not say “I am”; it says, “I appear as.”

In settings where the aim is to perform, costumes bring welcomed experiences. However, when we try to be part of a new trend or pull off that cute skirt a friend was wearing, and it just does not feel right, there is discomfort. When an outfit becomes a costume, it produces a subtle but profound sense of alienation. The clothes feel distant, dissonant, almost resistant to the self. If the costume is not intentional, it brings a sense of discomfort, as though one were inhabiting a borrowed identity. Wearing an outfit expands the self; it integrates with who we are, so that the sense of self remains intact even when the clothes are removed. A costume, by contrast, is temporary. Its identity evaporates with the garment, leaving behind no lasting integration, only the memory of a temporary transformation. We see this difference in the mirror: the costume does not reflect who we are, but who we have briefly pretended to be.

This line we experience in our everyday life is very subtle compared to a traditional costume, and in that subtleness lies an opportunity for change. It can get blurred, and with time, an item that once was a costume can become an outfit through integrating it with the self. Like a high heel that was once borrowed from our mother’s closet to play princess, is now part of a Saturday night outfit. Trying a new trend can feel like stepping into someone else's skin. The clothes may be cool, even stylish, and yet they carry the sensation of something borrowed. Over time, however, what once felt foreign can settle into familiarity. The initial dissonance evaporates, and the garments become not just what we wear, but part of who we are.

Dressing the Self: What makes clothing an outfit or a costume?

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