My sense of style has always been my most coveted quality. At age 13, I believed myself to be a true style icon, blissfully unaware of my mother’s efforts to convince me otherwise. My choices were quite ambitious for someone my age, and for living in such a small, rural town in upstate New York (emphasis on rural!) I set myself on a path of truly wearing what I wanted rather than conforming to what was around me. 

Fast track to my high school years where self-expression was restricted to professional, shapeless skirts draping just past the knee, and the occasional business casual dress pant riddled with wrinkles, for what high schooler has the will to iron pants at six in the morning? Private school dress codes: death to expression. Creativity was confined to the weekends, and even then, prior to moving to New York City for college, I subconsciously feared breaking the mold of the oh-so-fashionable suburbs of Buffalo, NY.

College was a breakaway. No longer confined to the limitations and pressures I felt from my hometown and childhood, I was finally able to try and dawn the fashion that I had seen strewn across the pages of Vogue, Pinterest, and the many blogs I worshipped. Fashion freedom! No more dumbfounded stares followed by the ever-dreaded, “Why are you so dressed up?” I became obsessed with thrifting, as does every fresh, fashion wannabe flocking to New York City. Adopting an eclectic fashion sense, my style emerged as a mix of the ubiquitous street style trends I saw taking over social media and a minimalistic, sophisticated timelessness. Neutrals cluttered my wardrobe to the brim, with the occasional staple piece I never had the intention of wearing, or truthfully, didn’t have the ability to style properly. 

In the mere six months that I was afforded the opportunity to attend school in the city before the coronavirus, my style had evolved dramatically and rapidly. Pushing the limits and boundaries of what I had worn before, trying to forget the not-so-effective choices that I had made in my past, was my only goal. I no longer wanted to be seen as the small-town girl from upstate New York.

Not only was I no longer apprehensive to wear the fashion that truly expressed my inner self, but I was encouraged and inspired to take risks. Risks that I would never have had the courage to take back home. Layering for the sake of style, and not because the next blizzard was waiting to snow down pure, frozen hell upon us? Unheard of. Mixing patterns if it wasn’t Buffalo Bills Zubaz pants on the bottom and Sabres' gear on top? Psychotic. 

Compared to others, my risks may have been a bit safe in hindsight. Color terrified me, and I still find myself forced to play around with it in the hopes of someday finding the comfort and confidence to wear it with confidence. A go-to outfit tended to be a plain black or white shirt, colorful slouchy blazer (preferably made of some sort of faux leather), wide-legged, light denim jeans or pants of a neutral color, and finish it out with some funky, dangly earring and sneakers to keep it fresh. A step in the right direction from my younger years, but not entirely out of the box.

The coronavirus pandemic sent me back ages in terms of style. Like everyone I know, pants absent of Lycra, or any sort of elastic waistband, have rarely been worn since March of 2020. Talk about one step forward, two steps back. Lockdown, and living at home for almost a year now, has taken its toll on my stylistic expression. I consider any day where I can muster the energy to shimmy into a loved pair of denim a victory. Why dress up if there’s no one to see it? To admire it? To be inspired by it?

Yes, style comes and goes, ebbs and flows. This is a given. The resurgence of past fashion circulates back to us time and time again. As the 60s and 70s make their comeback amidst this year’s emerging trends, it becomes apparent that we recycle trends, silhouettes, and even staple pieces; however, nothing could have prepared me to travel back to the days when I didn’t have the time or care of what I put on my back because I was just in Buffalo… 

Look how far I have fallen. I have ironically come back full circle to the style I so hated. Fashion tragedy at its finest.