I love to see myself through fashion

I’m not sure since when fashion and clothes became a part of my everyday life. I used to not care about it at all, as if it had never been a real matter to me, since it's just a piece of cloth that people put on their bodies after all. Well, not until I’m all alone and want to find comfort in something, and then fashion steps in, helps me explore a whole new side of myself.

I’m from Vietnam, it’s my home country, my ultimate comfort zone. I have friends there, thousands of them, including close friends to people I talk to once or twice. And I was surrounded with people like me, similar to me, know me and love me even. I had everything I needed to care about: family, friends, schools, entertainment life. But none of them were the fashion that I’m hopelessly falling in love with right now. I would say I didn’t even have time to think about fashion or waste my time to find out what it even means. Fashion was insignificant and trivial.

Then, just like a typical plot in a book where the main character transfers to a new place, I moved to the states. Although, unlike the book, there’s no secondary character who would guide me out, I did not have that privilege. It was horrible to keep up with people, they were weird and scary. I tended to describe America to others as a strange place with strange folks who speak a strange language. I cried a lot. No one made eye contact with me when we talked, it was just sad and I felt ignored. I kept crying and crying everyday. I found myself hiding in a small closet, sobbing, face full of tears until I passed out.

It feels a bit silly to remember those memories now. Living in a place with none who could support me had increased my insecurity. I was so concerned about what others thought of me, I tried to learn about the trends, the ways to act, the billions of slang words that didn’t make any sense, even the clothes I chose to wear. Just to FIT IN!! Oh lord, who would have guessed, I wore clothes for others, to please my insecure self.

I’m mad at myself years ago, how could you be so basic, so boring? If I ever see you on the street, I. Would. Slap. That. Dumbas*. Face. Of. Yours. So you could wake up. I don’t mean those outfits I used to wear are bad or ugly, I simply disappointed at myself for not realizing how much and how high I can reach (when talking about creativity, of course).

Mind you, I thought I was an absolutely horrible person at art, since the type of art I learned in my home country is all about theories of and its history of where and when and how and why. The dullest way possible to learn how to draw. The only thing I can tell about art, considerably, is that it’s a picture that was captured by a pen. Such a narrow definition (here’s the true definition: the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination).

So, come back to my fashion sense, and the me who thought clothes are merely…clothes. I wear it on, hide the body in which society perceives as scandalous if I ever showed “too much”, and live on. However, as much as I want to fit in, something back in my mind told me to be, to put in a simple word, different. I think, and I want to believe that something was the me back in Vietnam. She told me I could be a loner, but at least be a cool one; try to show myself, my personality, my talent, what I am good at. Yet, I had none, what good did I have, no one ever complimented me about anything? I thought an object could work, but what specifically? When I came to the states, I only brought my body, my brain, and a suitcase full of clothes…wait…clothes? Clothes!!

And it hit me, fashion is a form of art, a form of self-expression. The way I put clothes on my body is my way of expressing myself, also the way I perform my art.

It was a long journey to figure out my truest self, but it’s worth it.

Now, every aspect of my life is intertwined with anything related to fashion.

I love it when every night before going to sleep, when I need to take a 30 minutes break from screen light so that my brain and eyes can relax, I instinctively go to my closet, the same place that is filled with my precious tears, and choose a fit for the next day.

I love to see the weirdest combination that my bizarre brain can invent. From wearing the bottom part of my swimsuit outside of the jeans to putting 5 different tops together and suffocating from the heat. Or even mixing the colors that usually don’t go well together, though at some points in my life, the concept of unmatch color pairs has disappeared. Or even make an outfit that one would have a horror reaction after looking at me as if they just see a walking avocado.

I love it when the people I aspire to be, the brave and beautiful ones who I swore to the moon that I could never ever be like them, reached out to me and wished they had my confidence.

I very much love those moments when my dream became a realistic goal that I can attain with hard work.

I love those zoned out sessions I have throughout the day. Most of the time I think about what piece of cloth I can use to the fullest potential if I happen to have. Sometimes due to an exceptional style that I got a chance to see. I would simply stare at the person and scream in my head: “Oh lord, there you go, confident queens/kings, bless my eyes today”.

I love it when people pass through me and either stare at me with an is-she-for-real face or an I-wanna-be her one. The second one is made up, but I want to believe so. I want to be a little overconfident today because I know my power will be reflected through my spirit and self’s beliefs.

I love my giggling when I try on a new outfit and stand in front of the mirror. Look at how silly I am but keep smiling like an idiot, thinking who, in what manner, for what reason, and due to whose permission, send an angel to this earth, then a little giggle again. Sometimes, my mom would join me, although her only reply is dang it looks like you’re wearing a rotten rust, still I appreciate it.

I love it when people shout from the other side of the hallway and say: Hey, I love your outfit. Then I would give a thumbs up, say thank you, have a little (shyly) nod, and awkwardly walk away, grinning from ear to ear.

I love when I come home, all the big mirrors in the house end up nailed on my room’s wall. For what reason? It’s because my mom got mad with all the noise I made at 2AM while having my “fashion show”.

I love the joy of going to the thrift store, spending hours and hours debating which one will benefit me the most in my outfit-invention career path, and then end up buying 99% of the things in my cart.

I love it when people judge me now, since it means I have something unique that caught their attention. Even though it’s criticism, jealousy, prejudice, hostility, whatever, I don’t mind anymore. Clothes, my art as well as my shield, have given me enough confidence and protection to appreciate every opinion that people around me have about myself.

Along with that, I also begin to love it when my friends or acquaintances defend me against questions regarding the way I act. As you widen your outer circle, it is quite obvious that you will meet more people, and they would ask me things like: are you wearing those everyday, aren’t you tired of dressing up, you seem to dress up a lot. To an extreme of: do you want attention that much, why are you being so extra, you are trying too hard, it just going to class/coffee shop/…, you dress up for who and for what. I don’t bother listening to them, but it’s rather touching when the people who know me laugh and support me with: she is not, she is simply trying to be herself, and she’s just obsessed with clothes, stop concerning yourself with others' business.

I love the me who loves fashion, it’s mesmerizing to see how she is so devoted to it. She worked hard, using her passion to polish herself. She is the kid who hid in the small closet, but not the same one anymore.

I love the me whose creativity and imagination have become wilder and better over time without a warning.

I love to see myself through fashion.

I have learnt to treasure every moment of me.