What is style?
Honest to hell and back, I don’t know. It’s overly presumptuous to say I, or anyone else has it. Like most people, I see something I like and determine whether or not it’s something for me. It’s a fact that I take my philosophies on life from movies in television. In the theory of style and fashion, I refer to Ratatouille: Anyone can cook? Anyone can have style! If you love it, and you’re confident in it, than it’s yours and you’re good at it (It’s the Millennial in me).
I have a hard time taking style and fashion seriously, as you can see. More often than not, I’m low-key cosplaying, and no one’s the wiser. I love cartoons and offbeat movie characters. I’m quoting Clueless in my head 80% of my day. But I’m still the shy girl who wore all navy blue to blend in, but secretly adored the ‘weird’ kids in capes. I was one of them in my heart but didn’t have the nerve to unleash it.
It’ll sound cliche, but with age comes major self-confidence. I’m almost 30; I will be who I want to, critics be damned. Is it still scary sometimes? Hell yeah. Growing up, I made a point to come early to class, so I’d never have a set of eyes on me as I walked through the door. Now, I make an *Entrance* as often as I can. Not for the crowd. For that little girl who didn’t know she’d grow to be a queen. I express myself through clothing, because it’s what she wanted, and most afraid of. There’s no person in my world I want to make more proud.
She’s the stylish one. I’m just paying her homage.