Re-thinking my wardrobe

Throughout the years, I've read numerous articles with eye-catching titles such as "8 Secrets to Dressing Like a French Girl"  or "The Surprising Feminine Outfit Everyone is Wearing"  in the hopes that by ingesting fashion literature, my wardrobe would go from "college slob meets school house marm" to more of a "maybe she's born with it, maybe she climbed out of a Audrey Hepburn film" type of chic. Perhaps I am exaggerating the state of my current wardrobe, but not by much. As a teenager, I prioritized fashion, seeing it as a way to separate myself from my peers and mark myself as 'different', 'polished', and most importantly to my vagabond soul, 'well-travelled'. Yet in the college years, this emphasis on standing out was replaced with the need to find something clean to throw on for the class I was already 15 minutes late for. My priorities shifted from stylish and European to cheap and comfortable.

As I begin to reimagine myself as a professional outside the classroom, I want my appearance to evoke the same narrative as my resumé--that of a polished, confident, and yes, well travelled woman with passion and ambition.

However, I noticed that as I began to search for 'fashion-inspo' on pinterest, instagram, and lifestyle sites, the more dissatisfied I felt with my wardrobe and with myself. I could never look like a waif-ish Parisienne model nor did I have the budget or time to comb designer clothing racks. It felt as if my body and in fact my very person was inadequate, unable to measure up to the impossible standards set up by "professional" insta-celebrities.

I decided to take a step back in the hopes of gaining some perspective, and thought back to the people in my life who's style I most admired--friends and family members who exuded a carefree yet pulled together confidence that was reflected in their style. All these women shared common attributes: simplicity, elegance, and uniqueness. For example, a dear friend would often pair a tailored pair of dark jeans with a well-knit sweater, riding boots, and a posh silk scarf. And that was it. No makeup, no "it" bag, no heels. My grandmother would sport slacks, a blouse, and a red-lip--nothing more and nothing less. These very real and perfectly-imperfect style icons prioritized a few simple staples, splurging in quality rather than quantity.



Through these reflections, I have come to realize that my style should not be something imposed, cut and copied from the instagram profiles of socialites, but rather something that spills over from within, an external sign of who I am as a person and who I strive to be. By taking the time to dress conscientiously, yet confidently, I show the world the kind of woman I hope to be.

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