I Let My Dog Pick My Outfits for a Week. We’re Both Underqualified.

If you ever find yourself standing in front of your closet, overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time, wondering what on earth to wear—you're not alone. I’ve been there. We all have. But instead of turning to Pinterest, a fashion app, or calling a stylish friend, I made a bold decision. I let my dog, Murphy, take over as my personal stylist for a week.

Now, before you scoff, let me introduce Murphy. He’s a 6-year-old golden retriever with the energy of a toddler on a sugar high, the attention span of a goldfish, and the fashion knowledge of a damp sock. But he is very cute, and, more importantly, non-judgmental. Unlike some stylists I could mention.

This all began with a mix of boredom and curiosity (and maybe a sprinkle of self-destructive chaos). Could a dog really choose decent outfits? Would I end up looking like a walking garage sale? Was this going to ruin my reputation as a semi-functioning adult? There was only one way to find out.

The Method to the Madness

Before we dive into the daily disasters, here’s how I structured the experiment.

Each morning, I laid out multiple clothing options on the floor—tops, bottoms, shoes, accessories. I spaced them out evenly, each item with a treat or toy placed beside it. Murphy’s pick was simple: whichever piece he went to first, sniffed, pawed at, or (let’s be honest) tried to eat, was chosen for that day’s ensemble.

Is this scientific? No. But is it peak chaotic energy? Absolutely.

Day 1: The Red Alert

Murphy’s first styling session began with much enthusiasm. He darted straight toward a bright red blouse I hadn’t worn in years. Why? Possibly because it had the faint smell of cheese from a wine night years ago. For the bottoms, he chose my leopard print leggings. A bold combo. On their own, each item was fine. Together, they screamed “middle-aged jazzercise instructor.”

I wore the outfit anyway.

When I walked to the local coffee shop, the barista did a double-take. I got a “Wow, that’s...fun!” and a smile that seemed like a cry for help. Mission accomplished.

Day 2: Business Casual Confusion

Perhaps seeking redemption, Murphy’s choices were more subdued the next day. He picked a gray turtleneck and a pair of wide-leg khakis. Respectable. Dull, but respectable. I felt like I worked in HR and had just emailed someone about their inappropriate use of emojis in a corporate memo.

He topped it off with a pair of mismatched socks and one of my old college backpacks. A look that screamed “burnt out grad student with a caffeine addiction.” I kind of loved it.

Day 3: Rain Boots and Crop Tops

It wasn’t raining. That didn’t stop Murphy from going full fashion anarchist.

He chose a floral crop top, rainbow rain boots, and a wool skirt. No jacket. No tights. Just vibes.

People stared. Children pointed. An old woman at the grocery store asked if I had “come from some kind of performance art thing.” I said yes. It was easier than explaining that my dog had chosen this entire look based on which item had the best bacon treat.

Day 4: The Corporate Goth

Somehow, Murphy landed on a black button-down shirt, my black jeans, and a pair of chunky combat boots. It was giving “goth intern.” I wore dark lipstick to match the vibe, which caused my neighbor to ask if I was “starting a band or something.”

This outfit was surprisingly wearable and even kind of cool. People on the street gave me the nod—the nod, you know, the “you look edgy but approachable” nod. For once, Murphy’s chaotic energy aligned with something fashionable.

Perhaps we were growing as a team.

Day 5: Gym Rat Grandma

Murphy’s pick today was... questionable. He selected my neon pink sports bra, high-waisted floral culottes, and a mustard-yellow cardigan. For shoes, he sniffed out a pair of white sneakers with one broken lace. I looked like a yoga instructor from a sitcom who’s also a part-time birdwatcher.

But here’s the twist: I got compliments. Real ones. A woman at the farmer’s market told me I looked “eclectic and fresh.” Another person said, “You’ve got great personal style.” Oh, honey. If only you knew.

Day 6: The Pajama Incident

It finally happened. Murphy picked my pajamas. Not cute loungewear that could pass as casual streetwear. No. He chose my faded blue Spongebob t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. With fuzzy socks.

I stared at him, pleading with my eyes. He wagged his tail, victorious.

So I committed. I added sunglasses and called it “whimsical comfort-core.” I only left the house to walk Murphy, during which three separate people said they “loved my confidence.”

Confidence is 50% fashion, 50% pretending you’re on your way to a TikTok shoot.

Day 7: Ending With a Whimper

On the final day, Murphy phoned it in. I think he was over it. He picked the first three items I laid down without even sniffing: a wrinkled T-shirt, denim shorts, and one sandal. I took this as a sign that even he understood the absurdity of this entire project.

After coaxing a second sandal out of him, I left the house looking like a hungover college freshman. The barista at the coffee shop just said, “Rough night?” I didn’t bother correcting him.

What I Learned

Letting a dog pick your outfits is a deeply humbling experience. But oddly enough, it’s also kind of liberating. There’s something about giving up control, surrendering to the randomness, and leaning into the unexpected that makes you reconsider how seriously we take fashion—and ourselves.

Here are a few things I took away from this ridiculous, wonderful experiment:

1. Fashion Rules Are Fake

One of Murphy’s greatest strengths as a stylist is that he has no clue what “goes together.” And sometimes, that worked in his favor. The clashing prints and weird color combos gave me new outfit ideas I’d never have considered on my own. Fashion doesn’t have to be logical. Sometimes, it’s more fun when it’s not.

2. Confidence Trumps Coordination

There’s a strange power in walking down the street in an outfit you know is bizarre, and choosing to wear it anyway. People respond more to confidence than coordination. I didn’t have any idea what I was wearing half the time—but I stood up straighter, smiled wider, and embraced the chaos. That alone made the outfits more convincing.

3. Comfort is Queen (and Also Kinda Cool)

Murphy had a knack for picking cozy items—cardigans, joggers, oversized tops. Pair those right, and you’ve got an effortless, comfy-chic look. It made me rethink the way I approach “dressing up.” You don’t have to sacrifice comfort to look good.

4. We All Need to Stop Taking Ourselves So Seriously

Honestly, the best part of this entire experiment was how much joy it sparked. Strangers smiled more. People asked questions. I had conversations I never would have had otherwise. All because I let my dog be my stylist.

And let’s be real—how often does fashion spark joy these days, instead of just stress?

Would I Do It Again?

Yes—though perhaps not for an entire week. My reputation as a semi-professional adult is hanging by a thread, and that thread was probably chewed on by Murphy.

But I’d absolutely repeat the experiment for a day or two when I’m in a rut. It’s a great reminder that fashion can be playful, spontaneous, and full of surprises.

And Murphy? Well, he’s back to chewing on socks and barking at squirrels. His styling career was short-lived but glorious.

In the end, we’re both underqualified. But maybe that’s the magic of it.