I’ve been wondering a bit lately. Wondering about how well documented it is that our clothes are our essence. How they are our confidence, our way of expressing who we really are.
I have gone through such a constant evolution of style over the years, I feign to say that it is as I learned to know myself better, but I am not sure that’s totally true.
Perhaps because it is intended to be such an indicator of knowing ourselves that I have struggled so much with it, I put relentless pressure on myself so viewed the situation as – “obviously if you are not sure of your style then it shows quite clearly that you do not know yourself?”
I have wrestled with the need to be minimal, with clean lines and simple shapes. It soothes my soul to have everything neat, tidy, well made and clean cut. Decision made? No.
You see I love everything. I can see the styling potential in everything.
I love the pretty, the patterned, the whimsical, the lacy and the beaded. I love the slightly odd.
I love to wear an unusual colour combination, quirky hats and a pair of vintage shoes, those are the things that come far more naturally to me than monochrome simplicity.
That then leaves the question of what that says about me? More to the point is that how I want to be seen? Socks and sandals may be my jam but I do often look at the beauties of Instagram in their Scandi hybrid coolness or their Francoise Hardy chicness and think that I would like to look “normal” mainstream, just to fit in a little more.
As a result I decided to take a step back from my incessant Instagram use and magazine buying (I LOVE MAGAZINES) because I felt TOO influenced. Not something I’ve ever thought about before. By spending my time browsing I was actually subjecting myself to hours of forced marketing. Instagram had become one long real of what I should be buying and what I should be into. But quite frankly it wasn’t me. It was not my voice, but mainly the voices of clever advertising and pretty products. I didn’t know what I liked and it started to make me feel tired.
So a cull ensued. I cut my following list down by half – they do not make this easy for you, engagement is life after all. I then had a feed filled with quirky, whimsical women and men that inspired me and wanted me to again consume their clever styling and brilliantly open minded way of looking at personal style. *Enter theatrical sigh of relief.
I am not against Instagram, I love love to while away my time looking at outfits. I think because I have been working from home I have been on it too much and I was left worn out by social responsibility and bombarded with other people’s worlds while still trying to figure out my own.
I wonder if I can feel this self-doubt at 38, what my 28 or 18 year old self would’ve been feeling. I’m glad that when I was 18 I didn’t own a mobile phone, I’m glad at 28 I didn’t care about anything other than laughing my pants off with my friends.
So for now, until that minimal vibe kicks in, you can expect to still see me rocking socks and clogs, peter pan collars and granny knits. I am indeed Miss Marple, bet I could make that a hash tag…