No-So-Fashionista

When I studied abroad in England in the fall of 2012, here’s what I brought with me:

Leggings. A passport holder. One dress. Two pairs of jeans. Three pairs of shoes. A couple t-shirts. A snowboarding coat. My laptop, camera, and journal.

Here’s what I neglected to bring with me:

Proper club attire, proper winter attire, proper English attire (guess who showed up to class wearing a bright purple coat and neon green backpack? TWAS MEEEE) anything to style my (then) very short hair, a notebook for class, a pen….

I was SO UNPREPARED for school in the UK.

I had basically just packed for the first 10 days I’d be there, since my travel buddy and I spent the first week and a half traveling in London and Amsterdam. In a horrible turn of events, we’d completely overpacked for the hostels–day after day, we had to explain to people why we’d each brought two suitcases that we had to drag up several flights of stairs every day (“No, no, we’re going to school up in Sunderland, these suitcases are actually all we have for the next six months of school”) but once we got to the university, we had nothing. Neither of us realized we’d be in clubs 4 nights a week, and I stupidly thought that a coastal town would be warmer (Note: NORTHERN ENGLAND IS NOT WARM. EVER. NOT IN THE SUMMER, NOT IN THE WINTER, NOT IF IT’S ON FIRE, NOT EVER).

So there I was, dancing in smoke and lights, wearing leggings, torn up boots, and a tank top, not willing to let my wardrobe limitations prevent me from experiencing everything England had to offer. I’m sure that the other girls, in their short dresses and high heels, stood there and scoffed at the fool American. But I didn’t care. At least my feet weren’t hurting all night.

In Rome, it rained constantly, and all but one pair of jeans was sopping wet. These jeans were mint green, but they were all I had. I pulled them on over my last pair of dry socks, stuffed my feet in my soggy leather shoes, and zipped up my coat. I looked in the mirror.

You could see me from the moon. My coat, purple and white plaid, harshly clashed with my mint green jeans and my slightly darker mint green leather shoes (I had a small obsession with mint green in 2012), and I had to go out in public looking like this. But it was this or those soggy leggings I’d worn yesterday, so wore it.

…it’s a little embarrassing to admit that it was not the last time I wore that outfit.

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But I long to be that girl again. There she was, 22, running around in ridiculous clothing and not caring a bit. Most of the time it was more about comfort than fashion (like when I ate so much gelato in Italy that even those mint green jeans wouldn’t slide over my hips), but mostly it was simple: This is what I have. This is what I’m wearing. Now let’s go exploring.

Now, I have a professional job that requires that I wear suits and heels every day. My closet is full of stiff blazers, dress pants, and button up shirts. My hair is long now, usually worn down to cover the tattoo on my neck. My look is sharper; smarter. But if I’m running late and accidentally pair that jacket with those pants–oof, shouldn’t have done that–my confidence level plummets. I don’t want to go visit our accounts. I don’t really want to talk to anyone.

Where’s that girl in the bright purple coat? Where’s that girl wearing ratty boots in the club? Where is she? When did my clothing dictate my personality, rather than the other way around? When did I start caring what people thought of me?

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Alright, here it is. Here’s my New Year’s Resolution.

(27 days late, in true Kristen fashion).

This year, nothing is going to hold me back. Not my clothes, not the way they fit, not the fact that I didn’t have time to put makeup on. Nothing. If I was once the girl who embarrassed herself on a daily basis and still spent most her time smiling, then I can still be that girl regardless of what I’m wearing.

And I’m sure a trip or two back to England wouldn’t hurt either *ahem*