My Love-Hate Affair with Fashion
Okay, let me start by saying this: I have a complicated relationship with fashion. I mean, I love it. The colors, the textures, the way a perfectly tailored blazer can make you feel like you can conquer the world. But I also hate it. The rules, the trends, the way it can make you feel like you’re never quite good enough.
I’ve been writing about this stuff for over 20 years. That’s right, since 1998. I was a wide-eyed 24-year-old when I started at Style Monthly, and I thought I knew it all. Ha! I was so wrong. So, so wrong.
When I Met the Devil in Prada
Remember that time I interviewed Miranda Priestly? Well, not the real Miranda Priestly, but a woman who was basically her evil twin. Let’s call her Miranda Priestess. It was 2003, at a conference in Austin. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squish. “You think you know fashion?” she asked. I said, “I think I know a thing or two.” She laughed. Not a nice laugh. A laugh that said, “Oh, honey, you have so much to learn.” And she was right.
She told me something that day that stuck with me. “Fashion is a heist,” she said. “It’s a constant stealing from the past, repackaging it, and selling it as something new.” I was like, “Wow, that’s kinda depressing.” But she just smiled and said, “Not depressing, darling. It’s just the way it is.”
The Great Fashion Heist
And she was right. It’s everywhere. Remember when bell-bottoms came back? And then again? And then again? It’s like fashion is stuck in a time loop, stealing from the past and pretending it’s something new. I mean, I get it. Trends are cyclical. But sometimes, it feels like we’re just rehashing the same old stuff.
I was talking to my friend, let’s call him Marcus, about this the other day. We were over coffee at the place on 5th. He said, “It’s not just about the clothes, though. It’s about the culture. The music, the art, the way we live.” And I was like, “Yeah, but still. It feels like we’re running out of ideas.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “We’re not running out of ideas. We’re just borrowing from the past. It’s like a big, beautiful collage.” I’m not sure I buy it. But hey, what do I know?
My Fashion Confession
Look, I’m gonna confess something. I have a closet full of clothes I never wear. I mean, never. There’s this one dress, it’s a beautiful emerald green, and I bought it because I thought it was the dress. The one that would make me feel like a million bucks. But I’ve only worn it once. Why? Because I was scared. Scared it wouldn’t live up to the hype in my head.
And that’s the thing about fashion. It can be scary. It can make you feel like you’re not enough. Like you’re not thin enough, not tall enough, not cool enough. But it can also be empowering. It can make you feel like you can take on the world.
What’s the Point?
So, what’s the point of all this? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just a way to express ourselves. To say, “This is who I am. This is what I like. This is how I want to be seen.” Or maybe it’s just a way to pass the time. A way to fill our closets with pretty things.
I don’t know. All I know is that I love it. I love the colors, the textures, the way it can make me feel. And I hate it. The rules, the trends, the way it can make me feel like I’m never quite good enough.
What’s Next?
Who knows? Maybe next season, bell-bottoms will be back. Or maybe something completely new will come along. Something that makes us all gasp and say, “Wow, that’s different.” But until then, we’ll just keep stealing from the past and pretending it’s something new.
And hey, if you’re in Vegas, check out the Las Vegas cultural events agenda. Maybe you’ll find some inspiration there.
Anyway, that’s enough from me. I’m gonna go try on that emerald green dress again. Maybe today’s the day I finally wear it.
About the Author: Sarah Johnson has been a senior editor at various fashion magazines for over 20 years. She lives in New York with her cat, Miso, and spends her free time complaining about the lack of good coffee shops in her neighborhood. She’s probably wrong about that, but she doesn’t care.
