I was standing outside a coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon when I noticed the way my shirt moved before I did. (Is there a better sentence to convey freelance creative in Los Angeles?)

A breeze slipped between my cotton shirting and my skin, lifting the fabric slightly, testing its breathability. An older man next to me tugged at his cuffs, smoothing invisible wrinkles, adjusting a jacket that looked a size too small.

I felt free and airy in comparison, but I didn’t always feel that way. I wasn’t always dressed like that. There was a time when I wore clothes too tightly, like my neighbor in the coffee line, but standing there, feeling that pocket of air between my body and my shirt, I remembered how much space I had denied myself for so long.

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In undergrad, I was an engineering major. I think I wanted to convey some kind of image—clean, put-together, smart? I didn’t really know who I was exactly, but I knew the idea of myself that I wanted to display (“competent engineer”) and that was enough of a start. I began to buy jackets that only fit over a T-shirt, convinced that snug meant tailored (peak 2012 menswear!). I wore stiff white leather sneakers that looked pristine, which after a full day of lectures caused my feet to ache in an awful way. And my skinny jeans were my go-to armor because they were everywhere and signaled belonging. They also meant eight-hour days of chafing thighs. Regardless of the discomfort, my outfits created an image of someone clean, put-together, and smart (mission accomplished, I guess?). I just didn’t realize back then who I really was underneath all of it.

Nowadays, I’m no longer an engineer and I know myself much better, but I still have a desire to convey my sense of self through what I wear. My button-ups hang differently. They don’t cling to my torso. They rest and drape, and when I move, they move a half-second after me, clinging to me in a different way, like smoke curling from a cigarette. My coats drape over mid-layers, my technical shells leave room for sweaters. I gravitate to shoes that let my feet stretch and expand (Vans, Converse, and New Balance are classics for a reason). In the office, I still wear leather shoes, albeit a derby I can slip off under my desk.

Pants were the hardest shift. The first time I wore a straight cut again, I noticed my comfort before I noticed how they looked. My legs moved without resistance. The fabric fell in a clean line from hip to hem and gave me the space I needed to breathe. The looser cut acknowledged I had a human body, and I started to acknowledge it too.

I came to understand that relaxed clothing didn’t mean oversized. It just meant breathable, being able to lift my arms without feeling the seams fight me. Underneath shirts and jackets, I wore T-shirts that fell cleanly, soft enough to skim, but structured enough to hold its line. Some days the tees are boxy and I let the air pool around my torso; other days they’re close to my skin, creating contrast against wide trousers. The point became the feeling, and I always used to think feeling was secondary.

In college, I wish someone had told me to wear a relaxed button-up over an easy T-shirt. Slap on some straight-cut trousers. Put on sneakers you can live in. Throw a hoodie over everything when the lecture hall gets cold. Sit for hours. Write. Slouch. Unbutton your shirt later and head to wherever the night takes you without looking like you’re so uptight. Engineers are allowed to live too.

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This isn’t a manifesto against slim fits or formal shoes or big leather boots. If that’s where you feel most like yourself, wear them well. But for those of us who grew up on hyper-tailored #menswear, aggressively fitted button-ups and denim that fought us every time we sat down, there’s another way to move through the world.

I used to think starting over and loosening my grip, whether in career, city, or closet, meant admitting wasted time. But easing up gave me room. Would would’ve thought?

Clothes are just fabric and the body is just a vessel, but the space between the two can change how you go about your day. It’s freeing to realize you shouldn’t squeeze yourself into an idea of who you’re supposed to be. You can let yourself, and your silhouette, soften. You can marinate in the unknown of a different cut or proportion.

Sometimes when I’m in line for coffee, I catch my reflection in a window, shirt moving slightly, trousers falling clean, jacket resting easily across my shoulders, and I don’t see someone trying to impress, but someone at ease. At the end of the day, all I’m chasing is some space to breathe.

This piece was adapted from my article, “how to breathe,” a popular submission and styling guide on Reddit’s largest men’s fashion community, r/malefashionadvice.