It’s me. I’m the therapist that doesn’t wear a bra. I haven’t bought or worn bras in four or five years. And while I could write about the gender-political implications of this decision (why it’s so expected in the first place, the pressures women face to present a certain way, the radical visibility of refusing to conform) it’s only peripherally about that. In truth, I decided to stop wearing bras for three simple reasons: I find them uncomfortable, I don’t care that I look different without them, and they aren’t worth the money (given that they do very little for me and can get pretty expensive). When I made the decision I expected social push back: that people would comment, or make it very obvious that they were noticing. But no comments have been delivered. And while I sometimes notice people noticing it is always with a demonstrated effort to move on quickly. I still get leers or suggestive comments, but no more than I did before.

I stopped wearing bras years before I began to practice psychotherapy. In my program there was talk about presentation in the therapy room: the kinds of clothes one should wear, the kinds of jewelry, and the mannerisms that are encouraged. These conversations felt more suggestive than instructional, and looking back I wonder why we bothered to have them at all. In my experience, four years into practice (training included) I have seen therapists that go to work in suits, in pressed skirts, in pretty dresses, in leather jackets, in ripped jeans, in comfy sweaters, in short sleeves with piercings and tattoos visible. (I grew up in the kind of small town that would consider this scandalous but I haven’t seen much of that attitude in the city). At a glance I can easily distinguish between therapists who want to appear professional and therapists who just want to feel comfortable. The ones in the first category are always the ones more inclined to anxiety. And so I have to wonder, how much of these presentation standards are really just rooted in insecurity and compensation? Are we living authentically? Or are we just trying to convince people to take us seriously? And if therapy is meant to be done in a safe, comfortable space - doesn’t prioritizing presentation over comfort conflict with that goal?

The clothing we wear utilizes cultural associations to signal stereotypes to the people around us - these messages impact other people’s perception of us. When we wear formal clothing we are saying ‘I’m working. I’m competent and intelligent. I am at your service.’ Or ‘I’m in control’. When we wear ripped jeans or piercings we’re saying ‘I’m not going to edit my appearance for you or people in general. I’m familiar with subculture spaces and I’m comfortable letting you know I identify with them.’ A therapist saying the latter carries implications, it means their showing up to session with authenticity, and perhaps even bravery. It also means that they are possibly unintimidated by other people’s judgements. Potentially, this is  a fantastic way to start off a therapeutic relationship, and potentially it is a disastrous one. 

Types of therapies and self-presentation

I believe this trend of dressing up professionally has developed from four overlapping sources: freudian ways of doing therapy, gender, age, and capitalism. Freud is considered by many to be one of the fathers of psychology. His situation offered him a lot of acclaim and status. He was one of the first to ask questions about how powerful the psyche is and how it might be changed or influenced. He was pretty radical for his time. His writings continue to be influential in psychology and psychotherapy programs alike, and indeed there’s a lot of worthwhile learning available there. (I don’t follow Freudian teachings myself, but I can see some of the benefits to them.) What we don’t talk much about is what Freud didn’t do well. Freud was a big believer in the blank-slate therapist - that a therapist should be as void of personality as possible so a client can project their own deep-seated beliefs onto them, making those beliefs available for manipulation. This transference process is still used today - and quite successfully. While I don’t want to discredit this kind of therapy which is certainly still needed for certain clients, I do want to offer a gentle reminder that it’s not the only option. Most students don’t feel free to question Freud’s teachings when we’re learning them, and this kind of simplified view can have long-term consequences in therapist ideologies.

I consider myself a humanist therapist: I’ve been heavily influenced by Carl Rogers’ writing. His modalities and stances contradict a lot of Freud’s way of doing things. Humanistic therapy doesn’t require a lack of expression or personal disclosure the way Freudian therapy does. It actually encourages these things - when they’re done carefully. Rogers believed that the therapeutic relationship can act as a model for other relationships in the client’s life. That unconditional positive regard, comprehensive communication, and personal authenticity in the therapy room could help client’s practice relationship- and self-esteem-skills in a safe environment. Research shows that both these approaches provide successful therapy - so therapists tend to choose based on personal strengths and preferences, or client needs. And yet, I can’t help but notice that Freudian ways of thinking are much more common, that they act as a default in therapeutic thinking. After all, it’s much easier to read personality out of ripped jeans and a leather jacket, then it is out of formal clothing.

The fact that these remain the more obvious trends tells me that there is some kind of cultural stigma or bias at play. And I think it ties into our fear and avoidance of emotion. Some subcultures are assumed to be filled with more ‘emotional’ people (perhaps more ‘sensitive’ would be more accurate - in the neuro-diverse sense), a belief that’s left over from mid-twentieth century stereotyping. We would rather be perceived as intelligent and competent than authentic. We prefer to be in control rather than vulnerable. We want our client’s to view us more as workers (with credentials), and less as people (with families and lives and griefs and joys). So between Freud’s a-personal approach and our cultur’s fixation on cold competence the therapist stereotype was born, and she definitely wears a bra.

Gender, Age, and Capitalism

This second theme is born out of the first one. Freud was a man much before a time when women weren’t considered capable of the same scientific research or psychological treatment that men can do - never mind that a lot of therapy relies on emotional competence which is stereotypically more a women’s area. Therapy is, now, a female dominated field, but patriarchy’s fingers can still be seen fiddling with its norms and customs. At some point we had to prove ourselves capable of doing this work, and doing it well. Often when gender politics come up in work, that means acting as much like a man as we can get away with. Formal clothing began as a man’s weapon of choice when communicating status and power. So it’s no surprise that it’s been commandeered by women trying to meet those same status and power standards. 

In our effort to present ourselves as competent, we also tend to present ourselves as older. We assume client’s have more trust for therapists with some years and experiences under them. (This may be true, though I’ve found client’s trust can be earned fairly quickly, especially when age differences are acknowledged and explored. Also, younger clients tend to prefer younger therapists - we’re more relatable.) Leather jackets, ripped jeans, short hair, tattoos or piercings, heavy make-up: these are all considered part of a younger aesthetic (never mind that they’re worn by women of all ages). They’re therefore associated with less experience, less authority, and less competence. 

By presenting ourselves in more professional, and more masculine, ways we are creating a personal brand. We’re saying: ‘you can trust me with your inner-most concerns and I’ll get the job done.’ This is where capitalism comes in. Some therapists are visibly anti-capitalistic (I try to be, anyway), but other’s fall on the other side of that spectrum. And wherever we fall, money is always a concern - this is a field where livelihood depends on client intake. Personal branding is a must - unavoidable. And so even with the best anti-capitalistic intentions, it’s easy to fall into the traps of branding subconsciously. And it isn’t hard to see why most people would prefer the bra-wearing, suit-straightening brand as preferable to the opposite. Even when actively working against the urge to create a conforming image, living in a capitalistic society gives us few alternative options. These performances are internalized no matter what. 

Autism and Radical Visibility in Therapy

Being professional, even if it means sacrificing authenticity, is all well and good if that’s your thing. But the reality is, it’s not an option for everybody. Professional clothing to me is uncomfortable and overstimulating. And I can’t do my work well if I’m overwhelmed or distracted. I can tolerate uncomfortable clothing for short amounts of time, occasionally. But this is my job, I do it for hours a week. And besides, I like my ‘alternative’ clothing, it helps me fulfill my need for authenticity that a lot of neuro-diverse people have. (I think this might be born out of a learned refusal to mask after years of pretending to be people we aren’t.) I like the messages it sends about me: that I’m non-conforming and open-minded and prioritizing living life over talking about it. These statements align very well with my beliefs and intentions as a therapist.

Devon Price speaks about radical visibility: daring to present ourselves as we are most comfortable and authentic despite the social connotations and pushback we might receive for it. Radical visibility means challenging social expectations and stereotypes just by being present and being seen as you are. So much of my sessions are spent unraveling the internalized beliefs systems of a toxic culture, so dressing how I want when I want can only help in those efforts. By being my comfortable, autistic self I am challenging the assumptions we’re all subconsciously affirming about what a therapist can be or do. That’s how evolution works: it requires diversity.

When I began embracing autism and questioning my masking I took a hard long look (I am still looking) at the things I did in session which made me physically or emotionally uncomfortable but provided temporary social security. I’ve decided I’d rather learn to tolerate the risk of judgment than force myself to sit through hours of tense discomfort while pretending otherwise. But honestly? My practice has only flourished in the changes that I have since made. My autistic clients can see my autism in the way I wear my hair, my clothes, and my makeup. They can see it in my office: dimmed lights, available snacks, pillows on the floor. My gender aware client’s can see my androgyny. Client’s who struggle with self-esteem can see my sex-positivity and my body-positivity. My discomforts and headaches and stomach upsets. My muscle tension and soreness. My cold feet and my aversion to shoes. My tiredness. All these things are available for viewing if one looks closely enough. Am I self-conscious? Yes, daily. But not enough to justify trying to cover these things up and risk distancing myself from people who have come to rely on knowing me, and me knowing them.