#fashionsofpublichealth

I’ve recently wanted to get on Instagram (in non-voyeuristic ways) just to create the hashtag: fashionsofpublichealth.

I love clothes. When I was a high school senior I was voted most likely to be on the cover of Vogue. Even before that when my parents would have ragers (they liked to party), I would carefully orchestrate my fashions for the event – my best memory is stringing together paperclips for one long earring (it was the mid 1980s).

I still dress up in 2023, albeit usually in professor chic, lady who walks all over town in the flyest kicks (most practical for traversing city streets), and wearing every color-pattern combination I can muster (as long as it “goes” – a Southern term for matchiness or coordination).

My sartorial choices for the workplace have a lot to do what my PhD mentor told me more than 15 years ago: “Megha, if can’t dazzle them with your brilliance, then use color copies.” The lecturn is my stage, and I dazzle with colored blazers: magenta wool, poppy red corduroy, tailored blues, blacks, and smart silk scarves (a signature look inherited from my mother, who was also a professor). To be clear, I also dazzle by only teaching material I care about, assigning books I want to read or have read and loved, and in subject matter that makes me want to scream more often with joy than with rage. I’m a passionate teacher. The clothes just happen to “go” with the overall vibe.

I wanna get back on Instagram like a public health-professor version of Bill Cunningham, the late, brilliant New York Times street fashion photographer. I don’t have the photography skills, patience, or the emotional self-control for Instagram. But I do have a love of play, a mood of experimentation these days, and of course GREAT clothes.

Look for it in an Instagram post near you (after I finish writing this next grant, and maybe prepping for class next week): #fashionsofpublichealth