How Do You Find Your Style?

An insecurity of mine is not having nice clothes. By 'nice' I mean clothes that flatter my body type and don't look like they've been worn every day for five years. When I was in first or second grade, I began comparing my clothes to other girls' once I was in public school—the land of free-dress. I felt like my dresses weren't as cute, and that I looked awkward in nearly every clothing item I wore. In my mind, the other girls looked cute and fashionable, and I was a frump.

In middle school when I started shopping for myself, I picked out clothes that either didn't a) make sense as a purchase in terms of wearability, or b) didn't fit me well. I was covered in odd patterns; Forever 21 baseball-style t-shirts (why?); loose-fitting shoes; and colors that did not flatter my vampiric skin tone. To this day I still get anxious going shopping by myself in fear of buying clothes that scream "I don't know how to dress."

I've followed fashion bloggers, style accounts, and looked at mannequins in store windows hoping to find inspiration for my style choice. I'm still scared to wear patterns other than stripes, and dare not TOUCH neon. It wasn't until I met my best friend Kassi in college that she introduced me to the simplicity and elegance of all-black attire. "When you wear colors and patterns, people pay more attention to your clothes rather than your face. And personally, I want people to look at me when they're talking to me. So I wear black; it almost 'cancels out' your body and offers little distraction to whoever you're speaking to," she told me. Mind. Blown. It made so much sense; and I hated people eyeing my outfit and not looking at me. Soon enough, my closet was filled with black button-ups, sweaters, pants, and t-shirts. Problem solved.

The safest look for me in cold weather is my black Ralph Lauren coat and cashmere scarf, while holding a book on Velázquez's work.

Then I got bored. Sure, black is elegant and chic, but sometimes you gotta wear some bright red blazer or emerald-green pants. This is when the anxiety began to creep up again. Shit, I thought. Now what do I do? It's such a first-world problem, I know, but not feeling confident in yourself no matter what the issue is, is always discomforting.

A quite radical outfit choice for Miss Paris: a Black Sabbath t-shirt from Primark, white blazer from H&M (stole it from Kassi), and a metal choker also from Primark. Why not, right?

I have a deep-down, hidden love affair with pink. Nearly all my clothes as a child were pink, and I still have pink accented pieces like my lace robe, computer case, lining on my shoes, and toiletry bags. But I'm so afraid to wear it in my clothes. I think it has to do with the fear of not being taken seriously; in my mind, if I wear pink, I'll be seen as childish and frivolous. That's the exact opposite of how I want to be perceived.

Then I discovered Lauryn Evarts Bosstick, the creator of the blog, brand, podcast, and book—The Skinny Confidential. Not only is this woman a boss bitch, she wears pink like it's nobody's business. Her whole Instagram feed is slathered in pink hues, clothes, accessories, makeup, home decor, you name it. And I in no way view her as frivolous or childish; she's hilarious, witty, intelligent, ambitious, and works her ass off for what she wants. So why do I view myself as childish if I wear pink?

For me, I see myself as someone who doesn't embody pink. Lauryn's personality and look goes so well with pink; no other color compliments her more. I, however, am quiet, introverted, over-cautious, and only show my sense of humor to those closest to me. I'm a dog-eared book, not an open one. This is why pink to me doesn't seem like it would go with my personality—but what the fuck does it matter anyway?

I need to remind myself that I can't put myself in my prescribed box of choice; yes, I know myself and my personality, but I shouldn't limit myself and my clothing choices off of that. So what if I decide to wear a bright pink button-up, shoes, or bag? It shouldn't matter; but in my head, it does. I'm still working past it so I can allow myself to wear what I want, and that I don't have to limit myself to colors that I think someone who wants to be taken seriously "should" wear.

This was on the night Kassi and I went to see The Pretty Reckless live at the O2 in London. I figured borrowing Kassi's red leather pants, black velvet blazer, and wearing my t-shirt referencing a Godard film were sound choices. It was also cold as hell, hence the black leather gloves.

Does anyone else experience this random problem? Is there a color, pattern, fashion trend, whatever may have you, that you've been dying to try but feel like you somehow can't? Whether it's your body type, height, or personality that's "prohibiting" you from doing so? I'd love to know so we can bond and lift each other up; I wish everyone felt comfortable dressing how they want without fearing judgment or stigma. Maybe one day I'll take the plunge and go on a pink spree, but for now, I'm comfortable in my black turtlenecks, blue jeans, and white sneakers (which I love, too).

Action shot on the Tube taken by Kassi (who else?). I borrowed her "Are You in a Film or Reality?" t-shirt and black "heroin coat" that we lovingly named; and I'm wearing my black skinny jeans and black boots. I loved this outfit because it made me feel very "London rocker but also academic."

Well, I'm off to peruse the internet to find a white Hydro Flask with a bright pink straw lid, as recommended by Lauryn.