Opinion: Clothes Express my Personality when Words can’t

Hi. Guys.

Lately, it’s become increasingly harder to talk to you. There aren’t many of you that read this, but every like reminds me that this content is actually reaching people. I have a hard time thinking of things that you guys won’t think is stupid. And then, today, I realized that even if you guys are looking for content related to your life, it will only be genuine if it comes from someone who actually wants to write about their topic.

No offense, but I’m not really writing this for you, but for me. As a way to express myself to other people without an anxiety attack.

So, Hi. Guys.

Many of you guys who know me, may also know that I really like clothes. I like the trends, I like the shopping, I like swapping my personality as I put on a new outfit. I think that’s why my closet is so expansive. Some of it is my bookworm/professional looking outfits, some of it is super flashy and bold and different, and then the rest is just average clothes.

My sister recently remarked that she isn’t sure who I’m going to be everyday. She told me that some days I’m one version of Felicity–the bold one–which my sister has affectionately nicknamed Felicia.

Felicia is the one who ordered my new holographic book bag; she loves holo-anything. Felicia is the one who begged for those shockingly bright purple Doc Martens. Felicia likes chunky necklaces, along with other statement pieces.

Then, she says, there is Frank. She’s more likely to crawl in a hole than dawn previously mentioned holographic book bag. She likes over sized flannels, sweaters over oxford shirts, bookworm over bold. She likes shopping in the boys clearance section.

And without further ado, Felicity in the flesh. She’s a wild mix of everything. Maybe that’s why I like rainbows so much: a rainbow is so wide it’s practically universal, and every mood or color you could think of is found somewhere in it.

Recently, I found the Wish app. I love it, 10/10,  but that’s not really why I’m blogging. I’m blogging because others don’t get me. Others choose only to see Felicia, or meet me on a Frank sort of day. They expect me only and always to be that one person.

Most of the reason there are so many people is my anxiety. Felicia is anxious-less, Frank is anxious-crazed, and I fall somewhere between those every day–but it’s different every day.

What I’m saying isn’t that I have some sort of identity disorder, it’s that I see the different filters. I see the different personalities inside of people, while others’ sight seems so unitary. I’m universal.

And, when I can’t find the words–I mean I obviously can’t, you see how terrible this is– I use my clothes.

It is my popular belief that clothes are an extension of our personality.


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