How Getting Dressed Turned a Love Letter to Myself


“Model is a approach to say who you’re with out having to talk.” ~Rachel Zoe

I didn’t got down to discover myself.

I simply appeared within the mirror at some point and thought, “Wait, when did I cease trying like me?”

It was after a breakup—the type that leaves you foggy, emotionally threadbare, attempting to make sense of the place you misplaced your self.

There I used to be, standing in my bed room, sporting one thing purposeful, outdoorsy, and… fully not me.

Not that there’s something unsuitable with cargo pants and fleece. If that’s your fashion, it’s stunning.

However I’m a girl who grew up in Paris… who loves texture, form, and colour… who used to put on lipstick to the grocery retailer simply because it made her really feel fancy.

And I couldn’t keep in mind the final time I’d wearing a means that made me really feel alive.

That second wasn’t dramatic. However it caught—like a pebble in my shoe, a quiet consciousness I couldn’t unfeel.

I didn’t know what to do with it at first. So I simply began noticing. What I wore. What I reached for. What I missed.

What felt like one tiny step nearer to me—and what felt like somebody (anybody) else.

And slowly, with out that means to, I began discovering my means again.

Not by means of journaling. Not by means of remedy. By means of fashion.

I didn’t notice it then, however I used to be beginning to come house to myself—one outfit at a time.

I’ve at all times felt like a cultural mosaic—fantastically advanced in concept, however exhausting to carry in a single piece.

Indian by heritage. East African household roots. Raised throughout 4 international locations. A mixture of accents, traditions, languages, and methods of seeing the world.

And for a very long time, I wasn’t certain who I used to be speculated to be in the course of all that.

In some circles, I used to be too Western. In others, I felt too brown, too “different.” Even inside my very own neighborhood, I usually sensed I used to be too completely different… not conventional sufficient.

I turned expert at shape-shifting—mixing in the place I may, firming down what felt inconvenient. Quietly accumulating contradictions I didn’t know how one can resolve.

I attempted, after all. I learn the books. Took the workshops. Employed the coaches. I journaled and meditated and therapized and “mantra-ed” myself half to loss of life. I even turned a coach.

Most of it helped, in its personal means.

However the strangest, most sincere type of therapeutic didn’t occur in a training session or on a yoga mat. It occurred in my closet.

It began quietly. One night time, I discovered myself choosing out an outfit for the subsequent day… To not impress. To not curate a glance. Simply to really feel somewhat extra like myself. And for some purpose, that felt good. Light. Reassuring.

So I did it once more the subsequent night time. And the subsequent.

Ultimately, it turned a ritual. Simply me, slowing down lengthy sufficient to test in with myself.

I began to ask questions like:

  • What elements of me need to present up tomorrow?
  • What feeling do I need to carry into the day?
  • Which items make me really feel alive?

Then I’d select garments that mirrored no matter solutions got here by means of.

Generally that meant daring colour and structured strains—one thing that stated, I’m right here, and I’m not hiding.

Generally it meant comfortable, draping materials—one thing that permit me exhale.

Generally it meant a mixture of issues that didn’t “go” however in some way felt just like the truest model of me.

Like I used to be letting the paradoxes stay on my physique as a substitute of simply in my head.

And in doing that—in truly sporting my contradictions, wrapping them in silk and denim and thread—I started to make peace with them. And I started to cease seeing them as flaws to clarify away or disguise and begin seeing them as richness. Texture. Proof of a life deeply lived.

As an alternative of attempting to resolve the strain, I let it’s stunning. I let it belong. And unusually, that softened one thing in me.

The disgrace that when whispered, “Choose a aspect, be clearer, be much less complicated” quieted.

I started to belief that I may maintain multitudes—and nonetheless be entire.

Within the morning, once I’d slip into these garments, it wasn’t nearly getting dressed. It was an act of permitting. Permitting myself to be seen. To take up area. To be advanced, contradictory, and nonetheless worthy of magnificence. A quiet sure to the fullness of who I’m—who I’ve at all times been.

What shocked me most was how I began to really feel.

How may one thing exterior—one thing as seemingly superficial as clothes—give me the elusive confidence I’d spent years chasing on the within?

Perhaps it wasn’t concerning the garments in any respect. Perhaps it was about permission.

To be seen. To really feel stunning by myself phrases. To inform the reality of who I’m—not with phrases, however with cloth and colour and silhouette.

Perhaps it was about giving my physique an opportunity to talk… and studying how one can pay attention.

Each night, I nonetheless take a number of quiet minutes to select what I’ll put on the subsequent day. Not as a result of I’m attempting to challenge one thing. However as a result of it helps me hook up with one thing.

It’s one of many solely elements of my day that feels fully mine—not rushed, not reactive. A comfortable pause. A second to land.

Clothes has turn out to be a type of mirror. And that second of dressing has turn out to be a type of meditation. Not the sitting-still type. The remembering type. The reconnecting type.

I believed I used to be simply enjoying with materials and silhouettes. However I used to be truly coming house to myself—piece by piece.

Listening to what felt good. Letting go of what didn’t. Making area for a number of elements of me to coexist.

That’s the factor I by no means anticipated: one thing as peculiar as selecting an outfit—one thing all of us should do anyway—can turn out to be a love letter to your self. If you happen to let it.



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