Yesterday I went out walking, and coming towards me there was this person dressed in black leggings and a black turtleneck pullover. On her feet, simple braided sandals. I looked at her hands and feet, and I saw very shortly clipped nails with no nail polish at all, clean, yes but nothing else. She wore no rings, no bracelet, only a watch. I looked at her face, no make-up, none of those rings women now wear, like a nose ring. She had just a pair of simple earrings. What shocked me was her hair, cropped close, maybe a #2 buzzcut style — almost monastic, almost military, but not styled to impress. Just reduced and you could see it was her own natural color, no dying, nothing artificial.

So many things crossed my mind in those few seconds of uneducated staring. It didn’t look as “eccentricity” but deliberate subtraction — an identity pared down to function. So, I was left wondering: is this person aiming to step out of fashion entirely, or is this her fashion?

She reminded me of a nun I had met once, a Buddhist nun. This one kept me wondering for a while if she was female or male, because she was slender as a bamboo, no breast, not any of those female attributes we usually see in women. But this one now was definitely female. However, her attire and posture reminded me of that old friend.

I realized this woman’s look was intentional. It was too neat to be neglect and too consistent to be accident. The choice was to subtract. That subtraction itself becomes the statement

My mind immediately created a story: This woman surely wakes up before sunrise. Not to chase productivity hacks, but to sit in silence before the city stirs. Her wristwatch is not about appointments, it’s about discipline: a marker that the day is finite, and every hour deserves to be met cleanly. The wardrobe — leggings, turtleneck, sandals — is pared down to avoid distraction. No time spent debating colors or fabrics; the uniform is the vow. Hair clipped short so there’s no vanity, no mirror-battles. Nails clean but bare. It’s not neglect, it’s a decision: “I keep my vessel tidy, but I won’t embellish it.”

She walks slowly, not rushing, as if measuring the ground. Onlookers might call her severe, but those who catch her eye might see a softness — the kind of calm that comes from no longer asking how am I being seen? If you asked her why she lives this way, she wouldn’t give a sermon. Just shrug and say, “Enough is enough.”

Then I continued mussing, while she walked through, giving me a slight smile, as if she understood my amazement at her fashion.

People are used to reading signals: color, style, jewelry, hair length. When those are absent, they start filling in the blanks with whatever their culture is most primed for. In a Cuban/Latin setting, where appearance is often bright, adorned, and gender-coded, her subtraction will stand out sharply. For some, that reads as eccentric; for others, they may slot it into categories they understand — lesbian, queer, outsider, even “crazy.”

In Japan, she could be read as shibui — understated elegance, quiet restraint. Short hair and simple dress may feel refined, even tasteful. A minimalist aesthetic there isn’t “crazy,” it’s a style.

In Northern Europe (say, Denmark or Finland) The black clothing, pared-down look often signals intellectual, designer, or academic leanings. There, she’d blend into an urban, minimalist culture, maybe read as “serious” but not odd.

In India, the short hair and lack of jewelry might recall renunciants, women who step out of social roles, or people with monastic leanings. She would be seen as spiritual choice, not fashion.

• Buddhist nuns (bhikkhunī) Wear their heads shaved; robes dyed in muted earth tones. The cut hair removes vanity and attachment; the robes erase status and individuality. In Zen especially, the minimal aesthetic becomes part of training — nothing extra.
• Hindu renunciants (sannyāsins, sādhvīs) Often shaved heads, simple ochre cloth, bare feet. Jewelry, cosmetics, dyed hair dropped as unnecessary masks. The body is kept clean but unadorned — a vessel, not a billboard.

In the U.S. countercultural/artistic circles she could be read as deliberate minimalism or avant-garde style. Like Steve Jobs black turtleneck uniform, or art-school aesthetics where “less” is the boldest statement.

In the end, I wasn’t so much looking at a woman as at a mirror held up to the assumptions I carry about appearance. What she wore, or refused to wear, pressed me to notice how much of identity we outsource to fabric and ornament. By subtracting, she made me aware of the clutter I take for granted. Maybe it wasn’t about style at all, but about freedom: the freedom to be read in many ways and yet not written by any of them.

And maybe that’s the sharper lesson for our culture. We dress and decorate as if the world demands constant explanation of who we are, yet we forget that silence itself can speak. In an age where identity is branded, curated, and sold, subtraction can be the most radical statement — not absence, but resistance.