From pompous frills to conservative plaids and now to free-spirited Bohemian shorts; we can all agree that the fashion industry has changed drastically over the past fifty years. Trends have come in and gone out; some of them welcomed by open arms and others mercilessly rejected.
I pride myself in wearing something that reflects who I am, something that I am comfortable in and something that makes me feel confident about myself. I like to know that I am wearing something, not because I saw a mannequin outside of Calvin Klein wear it, but because it makes me feel happy; and this isn’t a really hard task for me. I am a cisgender female with a rather conventional taste in fashion that mostly revolves around Vignette photos that I gawk at on Tumblr and Pinterest. The only restriction I feel when dressing myself up is when I think about misogynists who view my body as nothing but a sexual object.
And while that realization does suck, I don’t have it half as bad as a lot teenagers out there.
Our teenage years are our most insecure ones. We are still in the process of becoming who we want to be, but we haven’t yet outgrown our childish sentiments. Much like an infant, we too find our feelings and emotions to be rather foreign. Our vision of the world keeps changing incessantly and we get caught in a labyrinth while finding ourselves.
Many of us like to express these frolicking emotions in the form of art. Yes, that’s true, even the sulkiest and too-cool-to-dance teenagers out there use some form of art as a platform to vent off their “crazy” emotions.
For some of us, this platform is our fashion choice.
Some people feel empowered when they cover themselves up, when their sexuality and body doesn’t define them; other people feel liberated in wearing revealing clothes or going nude. And what someone else decides to put on their body shouldn’t be anyone else’s.
Even as a child, I found the concept of the invisible dress code that was enforced in all societies in some way or the other, quite confusing. I couldn’t comprehend why someone else cared about my dressing choice. I still can’t.
(more next week…)