For many of us around the world, how we dress rests as an important element of how we express ourselves in the world. We use our clothing to present our mood, our sense of style, our personality. I’ve learned to make an effort to be presentable but consider myself generally low maintenance. I don’t like to fuss too much or spend too much time and money on how I look. (Though I’m aware that’s extremely relative to the culture I find myself in.) I’m the kind of gal who joyously lets her gray hairs grow in. But I do prefer to look good and feel comfortable both in my clothes and in my heart.
Growing up, often that would translate to what an ex boyfriend of mine sarcastically referred to as a wardrobe of grandma sweaters. For the better part of my fashion-conscious years, I would wear outfits I deemed quirky and cute, but probably considered less than flattering. A college friend and I commiserated once on this subconscious tendency to sell ourselves short aesthetically by striking a middle ground between presenting a fashionable awareness but still covering our bodies behind our generally more slouchy, “frumpy” clothes. This was our attempt to tell the world: hey, I’m fashion conscious, but value me for more than my body.