What's in a Dress?

I do not dress to express myself. Who I am I show through my pursuit of theater and writing, the meaningful conversations I share with people, the things I learn in and outside of the classroom. For some people fashion is their primary outlet of creativity, and that is wonderful – not for me. I love fashion; it reflects history and social trends and life in an artistic, dreamlike way. It has the power to deliver important messages. I love observing and analyzing them, but acting as messenger is a task for other people.

So what is in a dress, a pair of heels, or a tube of lipstick? When writing an English essay gets overwhelming, why do my fingers instinctively type urbanoutfitters.com on the browser? Every time I go to a bookstore, why is it so hard to resist the glossy covers of Elle, Marie Claire, and Nylon?

To want to be beautiful is a human instinct. I simply pay attention to how I look because I want to be attractive, to others and to myself. I want compliments on my outfit; I want to pass by mirrors and windows and stop for a brief second and feel good about my hair. Fashion is like a comfort food for me – spending a few extra minutes in front of the mirror brightens up a morning after a terrible night; retail therapy, with all its wastefulness, actually helps me.

Freshman year I had a rather unfortunate sense of style because I truly believed that I was communicating something by wearing the clothes I wore, or the makeup I applied. Once I decided on red eyeliner, thinking it was a stroke of genius, a sign of total rebel/badassness. I was extremely proud of my pin-straight, black, uncombed hair. I loved my combat boots, both the socially acceptable ones and the, um, other ones from Hot Topic. People commented on my style and sometimes they were not very nice. My mother, of course, did not approve.

Still, I miss those days. It’s not that I care more about what people think now – rather, it’s simply that I no longer feel the creative impulse, the desire to be crazy, the powerful ticking in me that told me to pair crazy plaid skirts with sheer knee high stockings. Now I do the lazy thing where I agree with the fashion magazines most of the time.

To the fighters who are still out there: I beg you please, do not start looking like everyone else. To those who are more like me: don’t take fashion too seriously. You don’t have to know the names of the French couture houses and the hottest young designers. Your shoes don’t have to reflect your philosophy; your shirts don’t have to allude to your favorite musical era. Expression occurs to everyone in different ways. Let’s stop agonizing over what the shape of your dress means in the larger social context; if it looks good on you, really, who cares?

-Daphne Kim