A collaborative post by CICS Principal Julie Sale and Award winning Psychotherapist and DEI specialist Marcelline Menyié
The subject of what a therapist wears and how it impacts their client work has been gathering steam in our CICS learning spaces over recent years.
So, does it matter what a therapist wears?
Traditional psychotherapy modalities are acutely aware of the influence of our presence on our clients. The psychoanalytic concept of the blank screen only works if the analyst is literally behind a screen, as any aspect of our personal presentation communicates something about us to our clients. The rings we wear or don’t wear, the way we have our hair cut, the make-up we use or don’t use and our choice of clothes, all say something about us. Traditional psychotherapy models hold a consideration for what our presence generates in the dynamics of transference, countertransference and projection between ourselves and our clients – what our clients make of us, infer about us and project on to us. For that reason, wearing neutral, non-expressive, professional and modest clothes was thought to be important when working as a therapist.
In more recent years though the importance and meaning of what we wear as therapists has changed.
In the context of psychosexual therapy what we wear takes on another dimension of concern. Psychosexual therapists are working with clients on sexual material and, as such, are mindful not to eroticise the space in any way. Containing our own sexual identity, energy and expression and maintaining clear relational boundaries has generally been considered to be important in the work of psychosexual therapy. Not exposing parts of the body that can be perceived to be sexual, such as the midriff or chest, or even feet (for our foot fetish clients) supports that containment.
In more recent years though the importance and meaning of what we wear as therapists has changed. More casual wear has been adopted, partly to make the therapist space feel more accessible and normalised for clients. Casual clothes can feel more comfortable and being comfortable at work really matters when your role is to attend to others. The sensory impact of clothes is especially important for neurodivergent therapists and being dressed in sensorily pleasing clothes can be great modelling for our clients.
Therapists are claiming their own right to self-expression and see this as modelling confidence and positive self-relations to their clients. Certain ways of expressing ourselves send green (or red) flag messages to our clients. Brightly coloured hair, piercings, tattoos and logo T shirts can be signs of queer inclusivity. Cultural heritage clothing can be received as signals of shared community and religious identifiers such as hijabs, yarmulke/kippahs, turbans, cross pendants and bindis can communicate knowledge and respect for certain faiths.
In psychosexual therapy there is a cohort of professionals who directly challenge the idea of the therapist covering up, seeing it as body shaming and non-sex positive. This is ethically controversial in the context of not eroticising the therapy space. At the same time, demonstrating body pride and confidence could be important for our clients.
Julie’s Perspective
For me, I hold to the idea that what we wear affects our clients and that therapy is far more about our clients than it is about us. And I don’t say this from a conservative dresser perspective. I am known for the way I dress and my interest in fashion, and I don’t dress neutrally day to day, at home or at work. I do, however, always think about how the way I am dressed will affect my clients that day. As a cis woman I get to wear practically anything I like. I tend to dress androgynously, mostly in trouser suits and brogues, but my accessories are bold and would be found in the women’s section of a store. My style is not overtly feminine. I can and do however, wear dresses and red lipstick is a daily essential for me. With gender dysphoric clients what I wear has definite meaning. My freedom of expression could affect my trans femme clients who would love to choose to wear a dress or a suit and to be able to match a lipstick to their outfit and feel safe in society. My leather jumpsuits and boots could influence the therapy space with kinky clients or older, more conservative cis-het clients. As an older woman I’m not prone to exposing much skin, but if I was, I wouldn’t do so at work. Is my sensitivity to the impact of what I wear due to my age, my socialisation around what ‘professional’ means or my commitment to client focussed psychotherapy? Probably all of the above!
A student once described me as conventionally contemporary and I would agree with them. I have never bought the idea of a therapist being a blank slate but I have also never thought that what I want to wear is more important than the effect that would have on my clients.
Marcelline’s Perspective
As a young Black woman, I’ve come to understand just how deeply racialised experiences can shape the way we see ourselves in professional spaces. I’ve always championed the importance of representation in our field — not only in what’s taught within the curriculum, but also in what (and who) we see reflected back to us. Code switching also transpires into the way we dress. When I first entered the profession as a trainee, I dressed in what I thought was “professional”, mirroring what I’d seen from those who came before me. It wasn’t that the clothes felt completely foreign, but they weren’t my first choice for showing up authentically with clients. Looking back, I can see that I was in the process of constructing my therapist identity, trying to figure out where I fit within the profession. I worked as the therapist I thought I should be, rather than the therapist I wanted to be. It significantly affected my practice. I felt restricted. I didn’t have a voice. I felt trapped. That discomfort made me question whether I’d even chosen the right profession. In many ways, I was unconsciously reinforcing the idea that a “real” therapist was a white, middle-class man.
Over time, through research, connection, and community, I began to see therapists who not only looked like me but also expressed themselves in ways that felt familiar and authentic. That visibility shifted something in me. I started to reclaim my worth, redefine my value, and show up as myself in the therapy room. As that happened, my wardrobe evolved too; until one day, I felt free. The kind of freedom you feel when you get home, kick off your heels, and finally exhale.
Where I’m going with this is simple: what you wear matters. Not just for your clients, but for you as a professional. To be a “good enough” therapist, you have to feel good within yourself. This work demands so much presence, emotional regulation, reading between the lines, holding space without judgement and communicating with care. With all that mental and emotional labour, can you really afford to also feel self-conscious or uncomfortable in your clothes?
What we wear is part of our identity — it tells a story about who we are that day. It’s another point of connection; another way clients can relate to us on a human level. I truly believe that part of healing is found in connection and relatability. People want to see reflections of themselves, so they know they’re not alone in the world. If we all showed up as blank canvases, how would we ever connect or heal?
Dress appropriately, yes — but give yourself permission to feel free within it. Let your clothes tell the story of who you are that day. What we wear isn’t superficial; it’s an extension of our identity. Our clothes hold narrative — they speak to our culture, our mental wellbeing, and the way we choose to express ourselves.
So, what do you think? We’d love to hear your opinion.
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