Never forget the days of the North Face zip-up and tall Ugg boots. That’s where it all began.
As a little girl, I was what many referred to as, “a lot.” To nobody’s surprise, my fashion reflected this exquisitely. Adults would praise me and people my age would laugh at me. At the time none of this bothered me though, I wore what made me feel fabulous. How could that be wrong?
One particular occasion I couldn’t possibly forget was the skirt situation in third grade. My mother (God bless her) was always patient with me, allowing me to wear whatever I wanted, within reason. This day I strutted downstairs at 7 a.m. wearing bell-bottom jeans, a thrice-handed-down tee shirt, and a frilly, hot pink skirt overtop. This ensemble was finished with my hot pink Nike sneakers. It was perfect. On the way down the tile hallway of my elementary school, I took extra care to swing back and forth so the skirt twirled as I walked. My teacher even told me she liked my outfit on the way into my classroom. Nobody could tell me I wasn’t the coolest person in the room, because I was.
As years went by and the urge to blend in became worth more than feeling fabulous, I shrunk myself into the box of black leggings, cropped sweaters, and Converse. Now don’t get me wrong, I will never abandon my Converse. However, at the time I only wore them because they fit into the spectrum of acceptable attire. White of course, so as to not draw too much attention. In the fall of my eighth-grade year, I remember getting dressed and looking at my outfit as I did every day. Considering I was then starting to develop brain cells independent of my thirty-girl deep squad, I paused there. Did I like this? Was this what I felt my best in? Deep down I knew the answer was no, but I went about my day and let myself forget about it for another two years, at least consciously. Deep down I always knew that wasn’t me.
High school was when I began letting down my fashion facade. Only in my senior year did I feel comfortable enough with myself to try some funkier pieces. For Christmas that year I got a black and lavender turtleneck sweater and a pair of overalls I had liked on Depop. I didn’t wear them to school for at least a month for fear of judgment. Once I mustered up the strength, I felt the long-forgotten feeling of loving my outfit. I did not look like every other girl at my school and I liked that. I felt cool. In my head, anyone who judged me was not worth worrying about. I started playing around with looser jeans, and developed a collection of “grandpa sweaters,” as well as more dresses than I could fit in my closet. Nothing that I purchased was ever because of the fact that others were wearing it. I bought things that made me feel good.
My style today is, in the grand scheme of things, still pretty basic. I am allowing myself to become more adventurous with every purchase I make. It’s okay to take part in trends you love but it’s also okay to stay away from ones you hate. You can wear something for a while then decide it’s the worst piece of clothing to ever be created, just to love it next season. The moral of the story is that there are no rules. Fashion is not linear. We are moving in all different directions at the same time. The only thing you gain out of putting yourself into a box is disappearing into a crowd. You are fabulous. Reclaim your childlike expression and wear a skirt over bell bottoms. Wear Ugg boots and Black Leggings. Life is too short to conform your fashion. We spend so much time erasing ourselves until it gets hard to read between the lines of who we are deep down. The world needs more of you than you would like it to have you. It’s your life. And it’s your pink sequin skirt.
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