Style.

My body was not made to wear the clothes I always liked best. As a teenager, I wanted a curve-free, blank-canvas body so the designs on my T-shirts could be unwarped by the human beneath. I liked the idea of strapless or backless dresses, but I could never get comfortable in them. I have a painful memory of a shiny, strapless red dress, not at all suited for my 16-year-old self, and how I spent the entirety of a sophomore dance constantly adjusting it and fighting with my boyfriend. I suspect being more grounded and accepting of reality would have spared me both problems.

My teenage clothing choices were not a pure translation of what I wanted to look like; my desires were diluted by the limitations of the physical world. I thought was a blank slate, and my tastes were my own, but now I know I wasn't and they weren't. In America today, curveless women are a minority. The media, the water I didn't realize I was swimming in, portrayed a tiny slice of the population as average and set me up with unconscious starting beliefs before my own slowly forming opinions even entered the picture.

Little did I realize this paralleled a more central part of my life. Just as I believed there was one best way to dress, and everyone should aspire to it--in so doing, I unconsciously promoted the agenda of the fashion powers that be--I believed there was one best way to live. Looking back now, I don't even know what I thought was right, but I had a mile-long list of wrong choices, and a bad reaction when people saw things differently. In my mind existed a universal standard against which it was inevitable and appropriate for everyone to be measured. Deviations were acceptable to a certain degree, based on extenuating factors. There was a proper way to dress and to live, and in both cases, the way was generic and moderate. Resembling others without mimicking them exactly was the highest virtue, and emotions were to be always tame, even apologetic as necessary, unless beauty or some other virtue could "make up" for the transgression of deviating too far or being "too intense." My life has made so much more sense as I've become more permissive, perhaps because a concept like right or wrong is so dependent on the eye of the beholder.

I don't think I see what others see when they look at me. I'm taken aback by compliments and comments on my clothing that surprise me or with which I outright disagree. I've seen other people wearing an item that's not half-bad on its own but that surely doesn't fit them the way they'd like it to or maybe the way they envision in their head. I'm sure I've been that person without my knowledge. It seems inevitable, though, given that the best outfits always seem to live right on the line between fantastic and disgusting. Many times I've stared and tried to figure out which effect I thought had been achieved (by myself or someone else). It's a strange feeling. How could opposites be so close together? Clothes can look good or even great in classic style. But a truly amazing outfit always takes a risk. It's like hitting a high note: you have to project to have a chance of getting it right. Your success or failure will be heard loudly, but there's no playing it safe if you want to knock it out of the park. I believe confidence can cover a multitude of fashion "sins". If you love what you're wearing and you wear it like you mean it, others are likely to imitate you, mistaking the clothing for the source of your self-assurance. This confidence is where all trends begin as well; someone has to wear it first, before knowing if it will catch on more generally. Some trends never do.

It's because of trends that clothing is not as interchangeable as money, and a natural predilection to save may be unhelpful. Some clothing cannot be saved. I once bought a fitted black formal vest for myself with a gift card I'd been saving. It was in style, and I absolutely loved it. I considered it too special to wear all the time, so when all was said and done I'd only worn it once before it was no longer on-trend enough to wear. If I could go back, I'd wear and enjoy it all the time.