If David Bowie and Prince were alive today, they would surely give Retrosweat founder Shannon Dooley’s wardrobe a big nod of approval. As a self-professed ‘80s fanatic and dance aerobics enthusiast, she’s got enough leotards, leg warmers and headbands to rival Jane Fonda in 1981 – and then some.

Personal Style Begins With Throwing Out The Rule Book

For evidence of Dooley’s unique personal style, look no further than her Instagram page, where she’s often sighted looking so extra it hurts. Big hair, neons, eyeshadow and dangly earrings abound. If there was ever a masterclass on how to not only develop, but totally nail your own aesthetic, Dooley would be the professor.

“Lots of colour, lots of shoulder pads,” Dooley says of her style. “Full face of make-up and funny hair styles. It’s the whole deal.”

If you ask Dooley, carving out your own aesthetic niche begins with giving any kind of rulebook the finger.

“Fashion is temporary, but a sense of style is eternal,” she says. “The rules of fashion have to be broken, and we all have to fly our own freak flag. If you think top hats are beautiful and they make you feel fabulous, then wear them. If wearing pink frilly dresses, or turning to a particular era’s style of dress makes you feel like 1 million dollars, then do that. It’s about authenticity, and wearing something that you truly love rather than wearing it because someone on Instagram is telling you it’s cool or pretty.”

Retrosweat, Dooley’s ‘80s freestyle aerobic workout, is an organic extension of her no-holds-barred approach to dressing up and being herself. “It feels almost like a transporting experience,” she says. “Retrosweat brings together my love of the ‘80s and my love of fashion, and it’s made me fall in love with the era even more.”

A Point Of Difference

One thing you may notice while perusing Dooley’s incredibly bright Instagram is a number of images and videos in which she’s miming to ‘80s bangers, seemingly without hair. At the tender age of 17, Dooley was diagnosed with alopecia, an auto-immune disease characterised by bodily hair loss. Over ten days at the beginning of her HSC year, Dooley lost all the hair on her body.

For most 17-year-old girls, hair loss would probably present as one of the more confronting issues in a veritable ocean of s!*# to deal with. Between peer pressure, raging hormones and schoolwork, losing all your hair would rarely rank highly on a list of enjoyable teenage experiences.

“It was extremely difficult,” Dooley explains. “Being a teenage female in the early 2000s, with all the pressures of what it meant to be attractive as a woman, was challenging in itself. Plus, hair is such a big part of a woman’s femininity in mainstream beauty terms.”

Over time, Dooley grew to accept and even love her point of difference, redefining her own perception of beauty in the process. “In dealing with something I essentially couldn’t do anything about, I defined my own sense of style,” she says. “I now come to recognise beauty as someone shining their light outwards. It sounds like a huge cliché, but beauty is what’s inside.”

Crappy as the alopecia card hand was during her teenage years, it led Dooley directly to one of the great loves of her life: her wig collection. Whether she wakes up feeling like George Michael or Farrah Fawcett, Dooley’s wig is invariably the piece de resistance of her flooring looks. Even though she technically has none, she’s probably the best Becky With the Good Hair we’ve ever seen.

“Feeling comfortable wearing wigs definitely took a while, but as I’ve gotten older they’ve become a part of who I am,” she says.

“Now my friends don’t even blink if I’m blonde one day and brunette the next. For me it’s like wearing a different pair of pants every day, or trying on a new jacket. After essentially having something taken away from me, I’ve taken my power back by saying ‘Okay, this is how I can use this to my advantage.’ I’m sure a lot of girls would love to be able to change their hair every day like I can.” Word.

Dooley now sees this versatility as an asset, calling herself a (leotard-sporting, aerobic-making) chameleon who’s making inroads in the fight against unrealistic beauty standards – for those with alopecia, sure, but for everyone else, too.

“I don’t feel like I have to explain myself to people at the local coffee shop who see me walking in with different hair every day. I’m normalising this sort of thing for people with alopecia… We have nothing to be ashamed about.”

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