My wardrobe is my rebellion…
or welcome to the revolution.
This one is, with love, for all the kids who played alone at recess, sat with the “weirdos” at the lunch table, and marched to the beat of their own drum.
My family never had money, we got our clothes at garage sales and off clearance racks. I wouldn’t know a name brand label if it bit me in the ass.
Some of my best memories are shopping the fabric sales with my grandma or rummaging through stacks of vintage patterns and boxes filled with vintage buttons. I thought her polyester three-piece business suits were the height of sophistication.
At the time, I was twenty years off from my ADHD diagnosis and living my youth in the late 80’s through the 90’s (first class of the new millennium baby). While many of my classmates were shopping Aeropostale, Abercrombie, and Gap, I was surfing the racks at Goodwill and rummaging through my grandma’s closet. I hit 5’5 in the 6th grade and stopped at 5’9 in the 9th grade, wore a size 11 shoes, and was built (as my grandfather said) like a line backer. My body, and my neurodivergent brain, did not fold neatly into societally accepted small spaces.
From my earliest grade school memories to my latest high school ones, I distinctly remember a nearly cosmic pull to the fringes. I asked too many questions, answered too honestly, loved too freely, day dreamed too often. I was socially awkward but filled with the innate desire to know everyone - a collector of stories and experiences. The truth is, I got the shit kicked out of me literally and proverbially entirely too often. One would think that eventually I would just give up and try really hard to stuff myself into a culturally approved box, one that was crowded but safe. That’s not how the story went.
I cared deeply about other people’s opinions of me and my self esteem was so low it lie somewhere beneath the earth’s core, but I cared more about being true to myself. I wore thrift store combat boots with my dresses, cut my hair rebelliously short, and wore blue lipstick that tasted like Dr. Pepper. I listened to Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and the Counting crows. I took my fashion cues from hippies and rebels. I honed my fashion sense as performance art.
My junior and senior year of high school I worked in a fabric store, and on more than one occasion I turned a piece of blue blanket fleece or upholstery fabric into a skirt the night before school. I was in Drama Club and on the swim team, but I never won any awards there. My one spot of recognition was in the senior edition of our school newspaper (which was voted on by my peers) -
most strangely dressed girl in the senior class. I was deeply honored to have my hard work duly acknowledged.
Fast forward twenty five years later, after much life experience and many, many medical setbacks, I’ve traded in my patent leather pants for anything with an elastic waist. My five inch platform boots have been replaced by comfortable flats with sensible arch supports, but you can bet your ass my passion is still glitter. What Wal-mart calls pajamas, I call a statement piece. And on the days I have spoons for makeup, bold red lipstick is still my calling card.
My nails are full of razzle dazzle, and on occasion, my hair is blue.
I’ve never had any desire to be an influencer, and while I enjoy a good eyeshadow tutorial as much as the next person, it never occurred to me to write about fashion. I have always existed outside of beauty industry standards. I’ve never been up on the lasted trends (and I still wouldn’t recognize a lot of designer labels if they bit me in the ass). But you know what? I do love self expression. My clothing, my hair, my makeup, my nails - they are all little acts of rebellion and defiance. I dare to take up space in a world that demands I shrink to fit.
So fuck the standards 🖕 Let’s instead build a haven where fashion is art. Let’s celebrate sweat pants and sequin pants, embracing whatever makes us feel fierce.
In the words of the immortal Lady Gaga, “Don’t hide yourself in regret, just love yourself and you’re set. I’m on the right track baby I was born this way.”
For anyone who’s ever been told you’re too much, you don’t have to fit in here, you just have to show up as yourself. Welcome home.
This is where you help keep the sparkle alive. Your tips fund the caffeine that fuels late-night rants and early-morning revelations.
If you’re feeling the vibe, drop a coffee my way and keep this beauty rebellion glamorous and unapologetic!