At an age where most women are starting to fade into the background, Melanie Dale is doing just the opposite. Her bright, haute-couture style outfits are all styled from thrift and second-hand clothing, sewn and updated by Melanie herself. It’s part Clueless, part Patsy Stone, and almost always finished with a pair of towering heels and a hat. Newly diagnosed with ADHD and autism, Melanie treats her clothing like a suit of armour. I found out why.

PART ONE: FASHION FOR FUN

For those who haven’t seen Melanie’s TikTok account, the format to her videos is almost always the same: we see Melanie jump out of the car, husband Adam commandeering the camera. “Have a great day at the butcher’s shop!” calls out Adam cheekily, ad-libbing a new role in each video. Melanie grins and rolls her eyes, slams the car door closed, and totters off to the train station, with the other commuters eyes widening as they look her up and down. It’s fun, daring, and the exact type of feel-good content that the internet loves. The format, says Melanie, happened totally accidentally one day when she was running late.

“We were planning on doing some videos to show off my wardrobe,” says Melanie. “But -- ADHD brain -- I was faffing about and running late, so we ended up doing the video as I was running for my train.”

The wholesome interaction quickly won over fans online, with the Lets Get Layered TikTok account currently sitting at over 136,200 followers and 2.4 million likes, and her Instagram account not far behind on 64,000 followers. For Melanie, it’s all a bit…weird.

“I find myself having to screen myself at work and in public,” she says. “People have started recognising me, so I’ve to start toning it down. People know who I am!”

We millennials lived through the dawn of the internet celebrity. Still in its most nascent form, the early internet mirrored the (then, far more popular) print mediums such as Vice Magazine, or Nylon. The 2000’s ‘It Girls’ made famous on sites such as Cobrasnake were the same sorts being celebrated in the real world: painfully thin, barely out of their teens, stumbling through cigarette smoke hazes in towering heels and oversized designer handbags. We loved those girls, but in a way that sort of made us hate ourselves.

In 2024, however, internet celebrities have become a genre of their own. Authentic, creative, and genuinely talented, the lucky few who go viral have usually earned it through the adoration of the masses. These are stars that make us feel good. TikTok stars like Khaby Lame, Timm Chuisano, Victoria Paris and the whole Clark family clan (Kat, Jonathan, Latisha and Deja) are not your cookie-cutter, Hollywood types: they’re funny, and down-to-earth, and just as likely to upload a video crying to camera as they are a sexy selfie. It’s a whole new world of reality being served up to viewers, and the realer you are, the better you perform.

Melanie neatly fits the bill. The high-low combination of couture-style outfits outside a suburban train station is internet gold, whilst her to-camera videos discussing her mental health struggles are straight from the heart. For Melanie, however, it’s not formulaic: her social media success was a fluke, acting as a life raft as she navigated moving through the world as a neurodivergent, full-time-working mum to two tween girls. Her over-the-top styling videos earned her a community of fans online, ones who continue to provide support and encouragement to keep exploring her sartorial talent. But before the fans, she says, there was one wonderful boss who supported her outfits. The ones he could see, anyway.

“I was really lucky at the time to have a boss who 100% supported me in whatever I wanted to wear,” says Melanie, who was working at the time as the receptionist for a doctor in Melbourne’s CBD. “He is actually legally blind, though -- so I’m not sure he could see the full outfits! He used to say, ‘she can’t type, but someone should bottle her blood’,” laughs Melanie. The gentle -- and legally blind -- doctor she went on to work with for many years healed so much of the pain and distrust she harboured towards men. And, inadvertently, fed her growing love for fashion. “He loved my outfits…or what he could see of them,” says Melanie. “I felt safe there.”

It would be very easy to end the story here. Suburban mum becomes an overnight internet sensation, wears fabulous outfits, inspires women over thirty to experiment with their style. Easy. But here’s the thing: that’s just the start of the story of Melanie Dale. The truth behind her internet fame, and the iconic styling that goes with it, is a much bigger story.

Bus Stop Glam: Melanie as a teenager in her hometown.

PART TWO: FASHION AS ARMOUR

Growing up, Melanie had a statuette of the Empire State Building on her bedroom table. New York, she says, was always the dream. “I never thought about having kids or getting married or buying a house,” says Melanie. “For me, it was always New York -- I wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw, running around in amazing outfits.” Growing up in rural Victoria was oppressive for a personality like Melanie, who turned to hobbies like hairdressing, thrifting, and sewing to feed her growing creativity.

At 21, she got her big break: an upmarket accounting firm advertised for an executive assistant. She was, in her words, “totally under-qualified”, but much to her surprise, landed the gig. It felt too good to be true. She rented a flat in Ripponlea, packed up her wardrobe, and moved to the big smoke. It felt like the start of something.

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The early days of her fresh start in the city offered an exhilarating peek into what lay on the other side of her small hometown. It was busy, bustling, and exciting. Her new office was located in Melbourne’s inner city, right on the banks of the Yarra. Melbourne, and all of its adventure, opened up before Melanie. But in the end, the job was indeed too good to be true. I sense a heaviness in Melanie’s voice when she starts to describe what she calls, ‘the beginning of the end’.

The first signs of danger were the compliments. Her boss, a high-ranking executive at the accounting firm, was constantly paying her compliments. “He used to tell me that I could be a model,” says Melanie. Then it started to shift into something darker. There was the dialogue around her weight. He would count how many coffees or Diet Cokes she was drinking a day, and question her about it. All of this was in private, of course -- in front of the rest of the team, her boss was awful. “He would yell at me and put me down, and then in private, congratulate me for taking it so well,” says Melanie. Even the smallest of inconveniences, such as booking the wrong seat on an airplane, would cause him to explode.

As I heard story after story of her horror boss, I ask Melanie why she stayed in the job. Surely she was able to see how horrible the job conditions were? Writing this, I think of myself at the same age. I quit a job once because I didn't like the tram line that took me there. What kept her coming back? “I stayed because he had promised me the one thing that I wanted more than anything,” says Melanie. “He said that after a year in the role, if things went well, I would be eligible for a transfer to New York.” So she stayed, and accepted blow after blow, her confidence dwindling but the hope of her NYC dreams remaining steady.

But, like anything, there was a trade-off for her boss’s behaviour. The anxiety started to get to the young Melanie, who had never worked for someone like this before. She would call her parents in tears, daily. Consumed with anxiety, Melanie started picking at her skin. Skin picking, or Dermatillomania, is a debilitating condition, and the sores can often end up badly infected. After months and months of scratching at her face, desperate to ease the turmoil within, Melanie became unwell with an infection and found herself at the GP. He prescribed antibiotics, and she went back to the office. Around this time, the tension at work had intensified. Melanie’s boss was berating her constantly, then overly personal in private. The heat was slowly being turned up, and soon, it would boil over.

“He said that after a year in the role, if things went well, I would be eligible for a transfer to New York.”

'The' photo: Melanie in her office elevator the day she was fired.

It’s been almost fifteen years since the incident, but Melanie recalls each detail with remarkable clarity. She remembers that it was the weekend of Parklife music festival. She remembers that it was also the weekend she connected with her now-husband, Adam. She remembers that her boss was at a Ladies Day [Spring Racing] celebration at Werribee Mansion, an event which she had helped arrange his attendance at. She remembers that it was late, past midnight, when he wrote to her and asked her to get in a taxi, and join him at an after party. “Get in the car,” he said. “Come and join me in the spa.”

In a way, the barrage of text messages didn’t come as a total surprise to Melanie. It was only a matter of time before her boss crossed the line. And yet, the sickening reality of his actions hit like a sledgehammer. Melanie was finally cornered: to agree to join him that night was to risk her job, to deny his advances was also to risk her job. She was faced with an impossible decision, so chose the route that felt right. “I’m sorry,” she wrote back eventually. “I’m still unwell and on antibiotics. I better not.”

Melanie says that she knew at that moment that she would be fired. The dream was over.

“Get in the car,” he said. “Come and join me in the spa.”

The first thing Melanie did when she woke up the next day was call her parents. She tearfully recounted what had happened the night before, but was told firmly that she was making a big deal out of nothing. They told her she was overreacting, and she needed to be careful not to upset her boss. Despite their efforts to play down his behaviour, Melanie knew her parents were wrong. She wasn’t overreacting, and as for her job, that was long gone. With the knowledge that she was walking into an confrontation, Melanie reached for the only protection she knew -- an outfit.

In the process of searching for photos to accompany this article, Melanie actually found a selfie from the day she was fired. In it, we see a small woman huddled in the corner of a mirrored elevator, head resting forlornly on the wall, elbows tucked in tight, as if she was trying to make herself as inconspicious as possible. She wears a polka dot dress that sits just below her knee, 1950’s style. Her hair is styled neatly into a bob, and she wears a sharp blazer, tan coloured heels, and a smart handbag. She looks sweet, innocent, sad. I ask Melanie why she chose to take a photo in the lift that day.

“I don’t think I consciously chose anything in particular to wear, or photograph. The corporate environment dictated that I needed to tone down my usual vivaciousness,” says Melanie. “ I was compelled to take that photo that day as I had a sense this was the last time I’d be in that lift… and that my dreams were over.”

Melanie walked into the office as usual, but her boss wasn’t there. Her relief turned to panic as she opened her work inbox to email rant after email rant. He was not addressing the events of the previous night, but his fury was palpable. With a tightening chest, she called her old boss, the only person she felt could be qualified to help her understand what she meant to do. “Leave.” he said. “Get your bag, and leave.” So she did.

What happened next is hard to explain. For many of you reading this, you’ll wonder how a seemingly innocuous exchange of text messages and emails would manage to unravel someone so quickly and completely. What is missing from that judgement, however, is the consideration of almost a year of constant grooming, a frog swimming frantically in almost-boiling water. An awareness of a nebulous, undefinable sort of danger. Bad, so bad -- but not in a way that was criminal. All women know that feeling.

Melanie says that what happened that day was probably a nervous breakdown. After leaving the office, she wandered the city for hours, dissociated, confused. She called her father, who refused to come and collect her. In the end, it was an old friend who found her, taking her immediately to The Alfred Hospital emergency psychology ward. After some hours, her brother collected her, despite instructions from her father not to.

“I had a mental breakdown,” says Melanie matter-of-factly. “I went to my parents house that day, and never left. I couldn’t be alone because I was terrified he would come to my house.” Over the course of this day and the days that followed, Melanie’s boss harassed her with text messages. “I need to see you,” he wrote. “I’m coming to your house.” Thankfully, he didn’t. And he didn’t have to — the damage was already done.

Over the coming weeks, Melanie slipped further and further into a mental hole, her psychological state deteriorating rapidly, along with a dramatic weight loss. She moved back to the same country town she was so desperate to leave. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t even leave the house. Despite her parent’s protestations, Melanie did eventually file a sexual harassment case with the police, which resulted in weeks of damaging interrogation. Following that, there would be more questions from WorkCover, months and months of needing to repeat her horror story in order to receive benefits. Then, Melanie found out she was pregnant.

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Motherhood was both a saviour and a distraction. The pregnancy -- already 12 weeks along when she found out -- had resulted from the interaction of the pill and the antibiotics treating her skin-picking. Adam, the handsome man she’d enjoyed Parklife with, was now her boyfriend and soon-to-be-father. Melanie says that the next few years went by in a blur: she gave birth to a little girl, Romi (now 12), shortly followed by another girl, Sloan (now 10). Adam and Melanie got married, moved out together, bought a house. Life kept on moving, and she fought every day through her pain to keep up with it.

I asked Melanie to send me some pictures of herself over this time, and I am struck by how vividly her outfits reflect her mental state. Immediately following her breakdown we see Melanie, thin and drawn, draped in dark gothic-style clothing. Her sadness is palpable, sharp. In early motherhood, she adopts a more polished, professional look; working to blend in. Then, as the girls get older, Melanie softens. She stops looking so tired, her cheeks take on a new glow. Her hair is dyed pink, purple, red. Her outfits grow increasingly bold, with bright patterns and colours. Whatever the style, she looks dazzling. Even in her darkest days, Melanie turned her grief into something beautiful.

The dark days. Even at her worst, Melanie found a way to channel her grief through style.

“When I was at my lowest, I started a brand called ‘Day Of The Doe’,” says Melanie. “It was animal skulls that I used to paint and decorate. "That’s what I do…I take things that are dead, clothes that are discarded and unloved, and I turn them into something beautiful. I give them a second chance. That's all I ever wanted. A second chance."

Her love for thrifting and recycling was a way to channel the ever-present feeling of fear, the gnawing anxiety. Her boss never did receive any repercussions for what he did: today, he remains a high-ranking exec. With no resolution, Melanie simply needed to find a way through on her own. With two young daughters and a mortgage to pay, she was forced to return to work. Happily, Melanie soon found herself working as secretary to a Melbourne colorectal specialist who adored her and her quirky style. With most attending either cancer patients or their loved ones, Melanie says her clothing brought a smile and joy to an otherwise bleak space. During COVID, Melanie was one of the few Melbournians with an official pass to travel into the city each day, and said it was during this time that she really decided to let out her inner Iris Apfel. “The homeless guys would love it!” she laughs. “I’d walk by on these empty streets and they’d yell out, ‘love your outfit, darl!’”

"That’s what I do…I take things that are dead, clothes that are discarded and unloved, and I turn them into something beautiful. I give them a second chance. That's all I ever wanted. A second chance."

Fast forward to today and Melanie is still a medical receptionist, now for a female surgeon. Her daily outfits have gone from tickling a waiting room of patients, to over 130,000 people on the internet. It’s a perplexing trajectory for down-to-earth Melanie, who still can’t quite understand what the fuss is about. “Thanks to my autism a lot of this [success] has gone over my head,” she explains. Being recognised in the street has been an adjustment, not always a welcome one. “I don’t see myself as an ‘influencer’, but I do like that I have a platform to talk about mental health….that I’m passionate about,” says Melanie. “That’s what feels important.”

Looking over the images Melanie sent across it’s hard not to feel a tug when you see photos of her, still baby-faced, at 27. As she puts it, life was just waiting to happen. Dreams of New York flickered at her fingertips; nothing was scary and everything was possible. It is a familiar pain she describes, the sudden and devastating awareness that you actually don’t hold the power to make your dreams a reality. The realisation that the power actually sat with a man some twenty five years her senior, a man with a wife and daughter, who saw her as a toy. Disposable.

And yet, as all women do, Melanie survived her darkest days. At 41 she’s stronger than ever. “I’ve done all my healing,” says Melanie. “I have told the story so many times that it doesn’t hurt any more.” In fact, the only time Melanie cries during our interview is describing the grief she feels for the sliding doors reality of her life, the life she thought she would lead. I wonder how much healing this late-in-life internet stardom brings Melanie. I look through the photos of her on red carpets, vivacious and hilarious, cackling with celebrities and showing off her brilliant outfits. Then I think of that young girl, cowering in the corner of the lift, being catapulted helplessly into the maw of the corporate patriarchy. She’s doing alright, I reckon.

“I don’t see myself as an ‘influencer’, but I do like that I have a platform to talk about mental health….that I’m passionate about,” says Melanie. “That’s what feels important.”

For many of us, fashion has always existed in the context of the male gaze. It is a tool to present differently: sexier, braver, prettier, slimmer. For a long time, draping expensive clothing over my post-baby body was the only way I could look at myself in the mirror. Fashion is a disguise, a costume, a character. For Melanie Dale, however, fashion exists for her gaze only. I asked Melanie what she would say to women like me, middle-aged mothers who don’t know how to dress any more, who feel invisible in a sea of other soft-bellied women in yoga pants.

“Now’s your time!” she responded immediately and emphatically.

“If no one is looking at you, isn’t that the most freeing idea ever? Now is your time to wear whatever you bloody want!”

You can follow Melanie on her TikTok account, or on Instagram.