“My dinner, dress, associates, looks, business, compliments, dues…are not the Me myself.” —Walt Whitman, 1855 Leaves of Grass
This photo was taken on a Tuesday morning before a long day of classes. Tuesday is by far my busiest day of the week, yet I conjure up the funkiest outfit possible in the small window of time I have before inevitably running late to my 11 am class.
I stop and think, “What necklace would compliment this top,” and I leave wearing three. I promptly text my bestie sharing my excitement about the “PJ Chic” fit I’ve pieced together, complete with the handmade Barbie Brush and Mirror earrings I made myself. In the same text, I reveal I started the day off right by listening to PC music. A.G. Cook’s record label that features a ton of whimsical sounds and melodies that match the vibe of my outfit.
Fashion connects me to my inward desires and gives life to ideas that remain invisible to everyone else around me. They see a weirdly intriguing pink outfit with pants. No, a skirt? Yes, pants and a skirt! I see the origin and intention behind every piece I have chosen to wear that day. An outfit that may appear very loud and unusual to outsiders is actually an essential layer to who I am—a visual display of my internal musings.
Ribbons and frills on my outfit? Existential dread in my head, as I scroll through the long list of pre-class tasks. Platform shoes on my feet? Trust me, they don’t squash the deep anxiety in my stomach before a test.
Behind all of my outfits, there is a story left untold.
I choose an edgier fit for the Strange Ranger show I attend with friends one Thursday evening. My friend calls to see if I’m ready to leave. Meanwhile, I’m deciding on just the right pair of tights to layer underneath my plaid mini skirt. And oh yeah! Can’t forget my leg warmers. I grab cold leftover pasta to eat in the car on our way there. We are clearly some of the youngest at the show, but also the best dressed. I receive a compliment from the band upon purchasing their latest album on vinyl. I am deeply touched by the remark, but can only muster up a humble thank you and sweet smile back. One final mirror selfie captures my look before I give the rest of my night up to sleep. Physically, I’m exhausted, but I look like I could keep dancing to the rave inspired eclectic pop all night long.
Behind all of my outfits, there is a story left untold. Time constraints or a lack of vision for my dress will never prevent me from leaving the house feeling good. I threw this black net cutout cami over my “PEACE!” newspaper print top after purchasing them together over the summer and thinking they would look good together.
The story of my personal fashion is actually just the story of myself.
I work magic with my layered tops here, pinning and tying as needed, to mend them into one. Playing with style like this helps me feel like me. I choose who I want to be perceived as—like I am pinning together the fragmented pieces of me each time I get dressed to leave my house.
The story of my personal fashion is actually just the story of myself. If I feel like wearing an outrageous tutu with sky high platforms one day, then I’ll do it, to bring that external radiant confidence into my innermost being. If I want to transform the noise crowding my mind into a meaningful melody that matches my style for the day—like a song by The Avalanches or The Sundays, then I will, because it makes me feel grounded, peaceful, and truly me.
Curating my own style—playing with fashion and music—brings harmony to my crazy busy life. They’re the back-up singers that keep me company as I try singing the song of myself.
