Growing up in a conservative family, Lydia Okello favoured frou-frou frocks. But then their gender journey began.

“Oh. I guess I wear pants now….” It’s a seemingly unremarkable statement for someone to have made in 2016. But the notion was a major turning point that year for both my wardrobe choices and my gender identity. As an AFAB (assigned female at birth) person who grew up adoring frills, floofs and fanciful garments, I would never have been seen in a pair of pants, let alone jeans.

Looking back, it’s easy to see how my history shaped a narrowed view of how to clothe myself. I’m a first-generation Canadian-Ugandan who was raised in a conservative evangelical Christian home. Gender roles were rigid and in plain sight, and my penchant for frocks played right into my assignment as a young woman.

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Week 19. Hi! It’s been a busy week(s) — finally feeling like summer consistently here. Which doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it this year BUT trying to remind myself that I don’t need to stay in full recluse mode.⠀ ⠀ One of my favourite months, August always feels a touch restless but full of promise. I loved the feeling of *new school year, new Lydia* as a kid, and since I have a September birthday it always felt like more of New Year to me. I find myself pondering a lot of future things right now… so many seem like huge questions. Admittedly, this does make me a bit anxious as we are still in a pandemic. But, it also reminds me that hope is never far away. I had so plans for this year — even though they have changed course, I’m holding on to daydreams and future, far flung getaways. One day! Let’s get to the outfits shall we?⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Monday — buzz buzz! Sometimes, extra is exactly what’s called for. • @sotelaco Papaya shorts and Pomelo shirt (gifted), @shoparq bralette (gifted), @puntopigro_official sandals, old Cheap Monday sunglasses. ⠀ ⠀ Tuesday — literally a walk (and sit) in the park. • @powerofmypeople shirt (gifted), @nettlestudios pants (gifted), @sevillasmith Lydia sandals (gifted).⠀ ⠀ Thursday — kiss me hard before you go… a little classic summertime serve. • Jungmaven tee from @selltradeplus , Forever21 shorts (old), @sevillasmith mules (gifted).⠀ ⠀ Friday — errands were run! This tank top is one of my faves; I always fall for bright blue print on crinkly vintage jersey. • @communitythriftandvintage tank top, ES Florence shorts (gifted, not available currently), Vagabond mules.⠀ ⠀ Reminder: you can tip me in my bio. All tips help me continue to bring Style is Style’s delicious content to you. I appreciate everyone who has contributed — thank you for seeing the value in my work!⠀ ⠀ Black Lives Still Matter.⠀ ⠀ How are you planning on spending the first week of August? #nonbinaryfashion #psootd #tombabe

A post shared by LYDIA OKELLO | they/them (@styleisstyle) on Aug 1, 2020 at 5:27am PDT

I often looked to 1990s pop culture for fashion inspiration. Utterly infatuated with sitcom protagonists, I pined after the clothes I saw on Family Matters, Saved by the Bell and Full House. D.J. Tanner’s tiered skirts always caught my eye; I also admired Uncle Jesse’s wardrobe but didn’t think too much of it. Watching Grease in the second grade, I was as much in love with Danny’s iconic greaser looks as I was with Sandy’s sock hop attire—two sides of expression, but at that time, I only consciously tended to one.

I awkwardly navigated my teen years in lace-trimmed tank tops and vintage skirts, questionably styled. I still held tightly to the perception that I needed to sustain “femininity”—though what feminine meant was a moving target.

As an adolescent bibliophile with lots of spare time in the summer, I pored over books about the golden age of Hollywood and the fashion industry’s heady past. I spent hours thumbing through reference size tomes of Christian Dior’s New Look and the history of Vogue and was entranced by Ken Russell’s images of postwar Teddy Girls; it was a foray into the fundamentals of fashion. I didn’t realize it then, but I was building a knowledge base that would eventually inform my career and my style.

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peep the boots — this was a just-before-quarantine #OOTD. I remember feeling apprehensive but in a “what will the next two weeks be like” way. WELL. If I could go back, I’d tell pre-pandemic me “You have enough chickpeas. Remember that the couch turns into a bed and breath deeply once in a while.” What is past you saying to the present?

A post shared by LYDIA OKELLO | they/them (@styleisstyle) on Jul 21, 2020 at 9:16pm PDT

I didn’t come out as a queer person until I was 25. I was scared, nervous and trepidatious. I wasn’t sure if I was even allowed to be queer. My limited perceptions of LGBTQ+ folks—who weren’t gay men—were based on gruff stereotypes, caricatures of people. As I came to accept my pansexuality, I loosened my grip on my high-femme personhood—for me, the two were intertwined. My internalized homophobia and transphobia meant that I had a very specific script of who I was permitted to be. Coming out allotted some breathing room in ways I didn’t expect. There was self-exploration of what it meant to be me: to be queer, to be Black. My plus size body no longer meant I had to be femme—it was something I could choose instead of be assigned to.

As I became more explorative in my identity, including being non-binary, I found myself seeking new inspirations and icons. Writer and performance artist Alok Vaid-Menon, whose style is composed of a mix of saturated hues and who rebels against gender “norms” in an unapologetic and fully realized vision of selfhood, and Héloïse Letissier, who fronts the band Christine and The Queens, are just a few of the folks who helped me unpack what I had previously considered to be limitations.

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These days I’m often planning outfits for little getaways and adventures. The new @rothys Lace Up are virtually effortless (not to mention sustainable). These kicks are light and easy — the 3-D knit texture is exactly what a park hang calls for. Comfy, cozy and excellent for taking things one day at a time. #ad #RothysPartner

A post shared by LYDIA OKELLO | they/them (@styleisstyle) on Jul 30, 2020 at 7:53am PDT

Vaid-Menon (and other nonconforming and non-binary people) has taught me to continually search outside the white gaze of gender expression as Black people, Indigenous people and other people of colour have pre-colonial histories of varied genders; I come back to that often. And Letissier reminds me that style—even extravagant or ostentatious style—is not limited to traditional concepts of femininity. She sports puff sleeves and ostentatious trousers, but neither fall into the territory of “feminine wiles.” Vintage infused and never demure, Letissier’s clothing choices hold space for frivolity—a fanciful nature that isn’t just reserved for ball gowns.

Today, I often tag my outfits on social media with #tombabe—a designation somewhere between “tomboy” and “babely.” I do it to make a statement that androgyny doesn’t have to be monochrome baggy pieces; it can mean a boldly hued sundress and badass boots. It can mean anything you damn well please. And that’s the future of fashion I want to see.

This story originally appeared in the September 2020 issue of FASHION Canada. Pick up your copy on newsstands now, via Apple News + or the FASHION app.