Sometimes in life your perspective changes. This can be due to a lot of different things, like age, the death of a loved one, or the birth of a child, to name just a few. Sometimes you need to make it change. I’m figuring out how to do that the hard way, all over again, but it’s not the first time I’ve done it, so I know I can. I’ve got this.
One of the ways I’m going to try and do this is I’m going to cancel my fashion magazine subscriptions. I have been stuck on this idea that I need to fit in, so I buy fashion magazines, and I buy the clothes that they tell me to buy, even though they’re super expensive, and they’re meant for thinner women. I’ve even been dying my hair according to what the internet says is in fashion. I still manage to add some of my own flair to it, but how much of how I look right now is me, and how much is what other people say is in style?
My fashion used to be all me. I had black hair with green streaks because I liked it that way, a few years back. Now I have blonde hair with rainbow hues because it’s “fashionable.” I’m naturally a dirty dishwater blonde, and I’ve always hated being fair haired. I was super envious of my sister’s strawberry blonde, and my other sister’s copper locks. I hoped it would darken at least when I got older, so I could have a rich dark brown like my dad, but my brother got all the luck there, and I’m stuck with the dishwater. So I dyed it, and I love dying it. I love having crazy colors in my hair, like green and blue, orange and red, and of course being an emo/goth chick in high school I will always have a fondness for black.
My hair is long-ish right now, and that too is because it’s “in style.” It’s also because I am super paranoid about the width of my shoulders and the fat of my neck. It’s a lot harder to hide these apparent flaws with out having long hair, but I was always more comfortable when it was short and spiky, and although I’ll probably never get up the courage to do it, but I want to see what I would look like bald. The idea of shaving it all off, and starting from scratch is both alluring and terrifying.
When I picked my clothes for myself I always chose blacks and brights. No pastel for me, thank you very much. I am a bold person, deep down under all the fear, and my wardrobe use to represent that. In high school I even wore a cloak for a whole year. I really mean an honest to God cloak, too. It was black, and I don’t remember what type of fabric it was, but it was smooth and shiny, and it had a hood that could cover my face, and it stretched all the way down to the floor, despite the heeled boots I wore under it. I wore these pants that had huge wide legs, that were called “baggies” back in the day. My mom made both the cloak and my original pair of baggies for me, after much begging and pleading of course, because she didn’t get my style. I loved the low cut shirts, because I have fantastic clevage, and if I could sneak out of the house in it I wore a crushed red velvet top with three quarters length sleeves that billowed out at the elbow and laced up the front.
With my black hair long in the front and swept over one eye, and my thick eyeliner drawn to a point at my temples, I cut a fierce figure and I reveled in it. That outfit was thoroughly me, even if it made me stand out in the sea of pastels and whites that crowded my high school. I want to be able to feel that way again, fierce and bold. I want to feel like I fit in my skin again. I want to be able to wear what I want, without planning a month in advance, and basing it on what other people might think. I want to have a closet filled with clothes that Strike my fancy, instead of a closet of clothes that are painstakingly chosen to hide my fat rolls and still be in season. I want to feel free to dye my hair black, red, and orange regardless of the season, and wear it anyway I want to.
I’m done with choosing to be someone else. I want to feel free to just be me.