It’s been years since I let something like Vogue or a catwalk dictate my personal style.
I used to write freelance at a fashion magazine while I was in college. My editor was truly the fiercest woman I have ever met. She was one of those impossibly cool, older women who young college girls dream to be one day.
She wore men’s clothes like they were made for her. She made oxfords and tuxedo pants look sexy. She was a legend.
She took me to my first Fashion Week. I figured I was supposed to dress up as if it were a costume ball.
After all, Fashion Week is a zoo of sorts. Everyone dresses like he or she is at the circus, in the extremes of high fashion. Fashion Week is all color-blocked couture and intense eye makeup.
But my editor let me in on a little industry secret, and it was advice I have never forgotten: “It’s the bloggers who dress like ridiculous clowns at Fashion Week,” she said, splitting her attention between myself and her computer screen. “All of the editors, the ones who have all the power to make decisions for the entire fashion world, they are the ones running from show to show in flats and black jeans.”
I realized the most influential people of all don’t let fashion dictate their style. The important men and women in the fashion industry don’t have to dress the way fashion tells them to because THEY decide what is FASHIONABLE.
The posers are the ones who let the runways tell them what they can and cannot wear.
The realest girls are the ones who dress the way they dress because they like the way they look, not because someone told them it was the “right way” to look.
As much as I love fashion, I would never let trends or catwalks tell me I’m not allowed to wear something I like. I make trends. I do not follow them.
Because couture may be beautiful, but it doesn’t fit every body type.
I love the way models look as they march down the runway, the beautiful clothes cascading in incredible waves down their bodies.
Yet, the truth of the matter is those sample-sized outfits may look fabulous on those bone-thin, six-foot-tall models, but they are not going to look the same on someone who is curvy and 5’4” like me.
Instead of trying to squeeze myself into clothes that were meant for someone with a completely different body type than me, I would rather learn about my own body and what looks good on it.
I refuse to feel badly that most of the items found on the runways in New York and Paris are not going to look flattering on me.
I would rather wear something I KNOW looks good on me and makes me feel confident and sexy rather than have to compare myself to some impossible ideal.
Because only someone insecure cares that much about his or her clothes.
Those bloggers, dressed like jesters on the stairs of Lincoln Center, wildly posing for photos with the hunger of the thirstiest hyenas, are not the most secure of the bunch.
Only girls with the shallow NEED to be VALIDATED would feel the pressure to dress like a PR closet threw up all over them.
I wear clothes that make me feel good about myself. I, and the way I dress, don’t need someone waving a camera in my face to make me feel gorgeous. I can do that all by myself.
Because I’d rather be comfortable than chic.
The clothes you find in magazines, at photo shoots and on the lighted catwalks at Fashion Week may be breathtakingly splendid, but I can assure you those skin-tight camel pants and sky-high platforms are anything but comfortable.
When it comes to my style, it will always be effortless. Above all, it will always be about my comfort.
I won’t compromise feeling good for looking good. Beauty may be pain for other girls, but there will never be enough beautiful things to tempt me to cause myself harm.
Because I dress for myself.
I don’t want someone to dictate how I dress. My closet doesn’t shift with the changing seasons; it is timeless.
No fashionista or editor is going to manipulate my clothing. The only person I care to dress for is myself.
Life is far too short to be concerned if my crop tops and harem pants are “in” right now. I’m too busy worrying about being successful in my career to be frantic over whether my shoes are last season. I’m too engrossed in killing it to think so two-dimensionally.
Because fashion is art that I appreciate, not wear.
I love fashion. I think it’s a fantastic reflection of art in a unique and interesting way. That doesn’t mean I subscribe to basing my life or my wardrobe around what’s what in the fashion kingdom.
I have a deep respect for designers, editors and fashionistas alike; they just won’t be the ones dictating my personal style. Ever. I know what looks good, and if Fashion Week isn’t with me, well, Fashion Week can cry about it.
My style is going nowhere.