Writings

Overrated Anxiety; Underrated Fashionista

When I was four years old, I had a reddish-purple sweatshirt with a green dinosaur on it.  Her name was Babybop; she was a little girl dinosaur who was friends with Barney, and Barney, at the time, was my God. My eyes glazed over staring at that big purple dinosaur who was on television with child stars Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato. I ran around in shorts, stomping my Blue’s Clues light up sneakers, and sporting that sweatshirt. If it was cold, leggings, a turtleneck, and the sweatshirt. That show influenced how I grew up, and the sweatshirt influenced my love for clothing. 

 I grew up in the early 2000s where the world of low-rise True Religion jeans and Von Dutch hats were coveted. I always yearned for a skinny sequin scarf so I could feel like Hannah Montana. Basically, my whole life has been shaped by fashion trends. In elementary school, I can recall vividly going to the mall and making a bee line towards Limited Too.  Limited Too was where my dreams could come true.  A maze of racks filled with tops, with every type of baby animal you could imagine; puppies and monkeys bared huge round eyes that would melt even the coldest heart. Matching sweat-suits in colors such as; baby pink, lavender, or sky blue, and sequins everywhere.  If there was a stock market on sequins it would have gone up at least 400% in 2004. There was one time I was in the store and had tears in my eyes because my mom would not buy me a pack of colorful tissues with little green frogs on them.  My mom wanted me to suffer in the worst of ways.  Saying “put it on your Christmas list.” I would roll my eyes and whine, “But Mom, it’s June!”

As the youngest of three, before my public-school education, I tended to rely on the sketchy teaching skills of my older siblings. While having older siblings was a huge advantage, it also was extremely difficult to figure out my place. In second grade I was gregarious.  I tended to be a little overzealous when it came to most things that I took on. This was a direct correlation as to why I had a special red folder that held my daily behavior chart marking how well I followed directions that day. Special meaning, I was the only one in my class who had one. I was struggling with my family and was feeling neglected. If a psychologist were analyzing me, they would say, “You were acting out at school to get the attention you lacked from your family.”  

Our family was trying to settle into our new home.  We had just moved from Greenville, South Carolina because my grandmother had a severe stroke and my dad lost his job. Right after the move, we were living at my grandmother’s little blue house while we built ourselves a brand-new home. I had fun sharing a room with my older sister.  We had a bunk bed and I thought it was funny to hang over the edge and bug my sister while she attempted read Junie B Jones.  I was young and had no idea the enormous strain our family was put under because my parents acted like nothing as wrong. I have always been an anxious person and when I was little, I would tell my mom my legs “felt like rubber” I had no idea what anxiety was or the symptoms that were attached to it. All I knew was that it was a strange time in my life adjusting to a big move and starting at a new school. I was confused as to where I fit into this new place and routine. This confusion manifested in anxiety and trying to feel accepted. The only way that I thought I could figure out my, then undiagnosed, anxiety was through fashion. My sister, Lizzie, was a total tomboy at the time and everyone in my extended family loved her. I thought that if I dressed like her, then maybe they would like me too.  I tried to wear basketball shirts and tank tops from the boy’s section of Old Navy.  It wasn’t me at all, but I wanted to be accepted more than anything, so I tried it. I went into optimistic, but when me and my cousins continued to fight, I realized that maybe it was more than just the clothing my sister wore. Maybe it was a fault in who I was as a person. After the failed attempt to change my style, I went right back to jean skirts and pink shawls.

Throughout my childhood, I would get so excited to wear a new outfit or dress up for picture day.  I was young so most held their judgement when determining whether the outfits I wore stretched the bounds of looking remotely put together. I was expressing myself and figuring out who I was.  

 By fifth grade and into sixth grade, Limited Too was becoming too immature for us grown up 12-year old’s. My older sister Lizzie showed me all the possibilities that existed for me through American Eagle.  I felt so mature when I wore my American Eagle jeans and graphic tees.  It is fascinating to me that fashion can have such a profound effect on confidence in a person. When I wore my favorite outfit, I felt like nothing could bring me down.   I was a happy, outgoing pre-teen. Like all middle schoolers there were some melt downs where I thought my life was over because I didn’t have a Juicy Couture velour tracksuit and an iPhone 3.  Even still I was able to get past that and enjoy what I did have. 

 I was, however, not the most fortunate looking kid in my pre-teen prime. This is around the time where the unidentified anxiety arose again.  My brother and sister would have after school activities and my aunt, who was our designated babysitter after school, stopped coming.  That left me alone. What else was there to do for a lonely bored kid after school but to eat everything in the house unsupervised? I started to gain weight and had no concept of healthy eating.  I would play sports, but my awkward puberty body was not handling the hormonal changes well.  This left me with the feeling of anxiety and another feeling attached to anxiety that had been foreign to me, insecurity.  Now, insecurity is like an annoying roommate, always seems to be there at the times you want them gone the most.  I was unsure how to deal with not feeling worthy.  I always was so confident and outgoing. When I started to gain weight this all started to change. I had no idea what was wrong except my past experiences of rubbery legs and acting out. 

My style started to change dramatically in high school.  Middle school was a blur of the big three; American Eagle, Aeropostale, and Abercrombie.  High school opened my eyes to another side of fashion, soft grunge. There were endless possibilities that existed on inspiration boards I made on Tumblr and Pinterest.   My style turned from basic tees and ill-fitting jeans to Dr. Martens and Urban Outfitters tops. I went from loving bright colors to existing in shades of black and white. I loved wearing black; god forbid I was perceived as goth. If there was a soft grunge queen, I was her.   My staple was an army green jacket, Brandy Melville top with upside-down letters that read “Stay Weird” black leggings, and high-top converse. If style was on a spectrum between 2013-2015 Tumblr girls would be on one end while basic white girls were on the opposite end.  My sophomore year, I got an award during my end of season banquet for lacrosse and written in crayon were bubble letters saying, “Underrated Fashionista” Essentially meaning I didn’t have good style before and then all the sudden I did.  That was my award.  As you can imagine my insecurity had a field day with that one, as people laughed and the girl who made my award tried feverously to explain that she didn’t mean it in a bad way. I tried to make my style who I was as a person.  If people liked my clothes, then maybe they would like me more as a person.  I was always worried that my friends didn’t like me, and everyone hated me.  I covered that fear with an appearance of confidence.  “I may not be the skinniest, or the prettiest, but I do have a good sense of style.” I would tell myself when I got that rubbery leg feeling. 

The jump between high school and today is drastic. I sit in front of my Ikea clothing rack that holds about a dozen wooden hangers.  Each of these hangers hosting a dress that range from casual to formal.  I scan the items gazing over the ones I’ve worn and the ones that still have tags on them making a mental note saying “Oh I forgot about this one! I could always wear it to *insert event here*” My closet has physically changed throughout the years. I have been in different dorms and apartments each granting me various amounts of space to fit my wardrobe.  I wouldn’t consider myself a hoarder, but I love to hold on to clothes.  There is an abundance of outfits that are attached to significant memories.  Like my navy-blue American Apparel dress that I wore out to parties all the time my freshman year of college. I may not find myself ever wearing that again, maybe because the smell of beer could never fully be washed out, but the sentiment of it leaves me with a smile every time I am in my closet at my childhood home. I have made it to a point in my life that even though clothes bring me great joy, I am more than that. I used clothing to deal with my severe anxiety and insecurity. The one comment about my style I get more than anything else is, “I love that outfit, but I could never pull it off.” Each time I respond with a variation of the same idea.  It does not matter who it is wearing the outfit, it is all in the mindset.  I am no longer riddled by insecurity when I walk into a classroom, party, or bar. My legs don’t feel like rubber when I take an exam or must speak in public. I am confident in how I have been shaped by my past.  I use fashion to express myself. Whether it was using it to feel accepted, or a way to feel cool, or like Hannah Montana.  There was still the common denominator of wanting to feel confident in myself.  Finding my style and my love for fashion has helped me grow immensely.  It is funny how a simple object like a jacket, pair of shoes, or even a dinosaur sweatshirt can shape someone.  For me, I am forever grateful for the world of fashion and its vastness.  Fashion is for everyone.  There is a niche for every type of person.  It is ever changing and becomes more inclusive every day.  As I complete college, I hope to continue my passion for clothing and fashion.  When I move to New York City, working for a prestigious fashion magazine and am sitting in my high-rise apartment, I will look out my window at the ever-present movement that resides on the streets down below. I won’t forget how much I have been impacted by fashion.  I will never forget that confused anxious little girl, but I will instead look at how fashion helped me become the person I am today.