A Pile of Stuff
Handbags. Belts. Dresses. Jackets. Skirts. Heels. To those oblivious to the captivating world of fashion, those words may sound mundane. However, to those whose hearts are stitched within a blend of chiffon and tweed, those words sound like Sacred Scripture. For instance, upon hearing “handbag”, disciples of fashion may reminisce on Chanel’s debut of the shoulder bag in 1955 that evolved into historical fashion lore. Likewise, upon hearing “dresses,” some might recall Dior’s unveiling of “The New Look” that sparked a new era in the design of women’s clothing. I, too, have fallen victim, died, and was resurrected under the lights of the runway. I sold my soul the day I purchased my first subscription to Vogue. I am among the thousands of men and women who have indulged in trends, considered splurging a month’s paycheck on a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s, and chose Vogue for dinner because they felt it fed them more.
My love story with fashion was instantaneous. Although cliche, some would say it was “love at first sight” the first time I watched The Devil Wears Prada at the age of seven on my living room couch. I was mesmerized by the scenes playing before me.
The flashing lights of photographers at Paris Fashion Week and the panic within the halls of Runway Magazine caused by an upcoming deadline of an updated run-through all felt like a call to a vocation. Consequently, the obsession fashion had prescribed to me has yet to diminish. Ten years ago, unbeknownst to my younger self, squished between the cushions of my living room couch as the light of the tv screen illuminated the walls, I was receiving the grace that would immerse me within a culture of clothes that enchants me till this day.
Though the wonder of fashion I felt as a child has yet to fade, my perspective has matured. Fashion is not about utility. It is a form of transmitting individual expression. The divine parable of fashion is to unveil the individuality that is hidden beneath layers of garments. Those who follow the orthodox art of dressing view fashion as a mechanism to reflect their inner values, thoughts, and identity. Fashion exercises the limits of my own comfort zone and has been a catalyst in my journey of self-discovery. Since my baptism in couture, I have obtained a consciousness that has constructed my sense of independence, authenticity, and self-expression. Through the language of fashion, I can convey a reflection of myself through color, silhouette, or texture. Style is about being yourself, and like our soul, style is eternal.
Fashion is my religion, and I am a devout follower. As I wear my dreams on my feet in the form of the Jimmy Choo’s, I manifest a reality where I enter the Vogue Lobby met by the sound of stilettos clacking against the marble floor while a subtle panic arises due to an approaching deadline of the next magazine run-through. Since childhood, my transcendental experience of watching Miranda Priestly flip through the pages of Runway Magazine has continued to allure me to the elusiveness of the fashion world.
The intrinsic passion I uncovered that night alone in my living room encourages me to find a place in the fashion world where I can inspire others to embrace their own individuality and discourage conformity. I want to exemplify the importance of self-expression and genuineness as they both have brought confidence and drive into my life. Additionally, as I reminisce on nostalgic memories from the past and how comforting they are to me during trying times, I think of how customs and traditions have shaped today’s current landscape of both religion and fashion. In terms of religion, I now find that my communion with God is not found only within the Eucharist, but also within my closet. As my faith in fashion continues to refine my standards of living as well as my perspective, in place of where some might see a pile of stuff, I see layers of history fabricated by garments; where some might see two blue belts that seem identical, I see cerulean blue. 💌
