The art of getting dressed is also the art of acceptance. Every day, we must decide how we feel in our bodies and how (if at all) we want to reflect that to the outside world. Some days, I wake up feeling fabulous: energetic, bushy-eyed, like one of Capote’s socialite swans. Other days, I emerge as a gremlin — groggy, grumpy, vexed, and vexing to everyone I come in contact with. At the core of both of these iterations of myself is the consistent and deep knowing of what I want most: comfort.
What I need most are jeans that fit properly, shoes that don’t kill, and shirts that breathe. I know this sounds like I’m stating the obvious, but I spent an incredibly long time forgoing comfort in the name of fashion. Over the years, though, I’ve come to embrace that this is who I am and how I want to dress. As much as I’d like to be the girl in heeled boots, click-clacking to work in a miniskirt and ripped tights, I’ve fidgeted and fiddled through enough outfits like that to know that eight hours in one is borderline torture. Don’t get me wrong, I will pull a fabulous look for the right occasion, but the garments I gravitate toward the most are no-fuss: cotton shirts from Cou Cou, long-sleeved ones from Intimissimi, almost-flat boots from Frye. But who knows, personal style is an ever-evolving game. It’s entirely plausible that you’ll only catch me in a pair of heels next season. There are no limits!
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