This one is like research—or probably, effectively, like an idea about research. A desire for it. But it can also be, for you, more like a memory prompt or a blank daydream script. Or maybe a page you tore from a magazine and filed in a shoebox where it commingled with love notes, cafe menus, and newspaper obituaries. I hope it lands somewhere nice.
Over the nine months in 2022 that I worked part-time at a local (Seattle) funeral home doing funeral support, I assisted in about 180 events—each with, let’s say on average, 30 people. Some were huge and some were humble. 180 funerals with an average of 30 people means some 5,400 people in various stages of grief and mourning.
And with various approaches to attire.
In every situation I’m in, I love to observe what anyone and everyone has deemed just-right for the day’s dress. I’ve been this way since I was a kid; just totally captivated by it. I love it at the grocery store, I love it at pandemic picnics, and I love it on days when emotions are thick and visceral; when ritual is enacted, when something is truly happening.
What I’m saying is that among all the things I loved about that job, I felt lucky to witness how all 5,400 or so of those mourners chose to acknowledge their reverence, their grief, their solemnity, their respect with pants and shoes and shirts and vests and dresses and sashes and whatever else.
This particular funeral home—an anomaly among its peers in that it’s privately owned, not yet sucked into one of the five or so giant funeral corporations—serviced the entire city of Seattle but particularly the South End. The range of cultures and countries that passed through during the relatively short period of my employment helped me heal my love for this town. Where often I succumb to the version of Seattle as a monoculture of passive liberals and tech workers, on the days when I wore somber navy blue slacks to perform my duties it was the absolute and utter opposite of that.
Of course I wanted to take pictures of the guests. Of course I did not.
But if I had, I would show you the swarm of young Korean girl-cousins so smart in their various black-and-white riffs: spotless Nike Air Force 1s, Doc Martens, knee sox, pleated skirts, pinafore dresses, polka dots.
Samoan families in lavalava skirts and muumuus.
Black women in fur coats and hats and heels.
A cowboy grandfather and his giant Washington State belt buckle.
The sister of a Fentanyl victim in a Seahawks fleece. Game day.
I’m thinking about all of this now because of an upcoming project that I’m not ready to say more about yet, but what I’m wondering is:
How have you decided to dress for funerals, memorials, and other such observations? Were there perimeters you felt you needed to stay inside? Rules and guidelines? And if so—whose? Did you want your clothing to express something, or did you want your clothing to just cover and comfort you? Were you able, in the state of things, to differentiate? To care? When you think back on yourself dressing to pay respects and say goodbye, do you have any particular feelings or insights about how you showed up? Are there any edits you would make today? Would you do it differently? Did you feel like you? Does any of that matter? When does dress matter? When is self-expression not necessary?
Have you taken part in any other attire-based traditions of grief and mourning? Have you, for instance, purposefully worn black for either an arbitrary or prescribed period of time in order to show something to your community, to the deceased, or to yourself? How did that feel? What did it do? What would you or will you change if/when you do it again?
If you had to come up with a brand new dress code—either for ceremony or for the act of continuing to live after someone or something has died—what would it be?
I know that I am always here asking that you please consider using the comments section so that we might think together as one, and I know that mostly that has remained something that you have, as a group, decided not to do. I won’t make that plea again now because I know that whenever and however you answer, I will hear your replies. Some questions and answers travel like dreams and premonitions do, and there are certain windows that I always leave open so that certain messages can always get in. So go ahead. I’m listening.
God, I love the work you do. Thank you for all of your terrific questions and ponderings (and photo art). I have literally maybe been to less than five funerals in my life and what I recall doing about what to show up wearing is this: I always asked myself "What would this person I loved want me to wear?" Simple as that, honestly, though with a bit of discretion, as I did not want to bring (any extra) attention to myself.
I attended 3 funerals last year. The first for the 25 year old son of my friend, the second for my dad, the third for a 78 year old free spirit artist friend. I really appreciate direction for funeral dress since this is a casual place I live in (portland, or) and it's not always clear what's appropriate. My friend asked that for her son people wear their coolest/ fanciest/ most stylish duds because he loved clothes and getting dressed up for a party. My family, who I am mostly estranged from, did not think to specify a dress code so I wore a simple black dress because my dad was a military man who liked things sharp and formal. My artist friend was the most casual person ever, a former Berkeley hippie and his memorial was outside in a garden so I dressed in my regular, comfortable casual clothes. My own personal inclination for funerals is to dress in black and a bit formal because I want to signify something is different about this day. I don't want to be mistaken for going to church or a wedding or grocery shopping. I have of course been to funerals where it did feel like a church service and that's how people were dressed. Not my cup of tea but it fit the person and at the end of the day, that's probably most important.