How Paris Lost Her Groove
|Image source: The Sartorialist
I first noticed I had lost something when my Polyvore drafts piled up but my published sets dried up. I have nearly two dozen unfinished drafts that don't have the perfect image or that are unsettled about one of six pairs of shoes. Nothing seemed to go with anything. "It's just these styles," I reassured myself. "This season isn't for me. Maybe next season I'll feel inspired."
Then, I started to struggle dressing myself. Default to jeans. Too tired to wear tights (which is a nonsense statement). "Well, it's cold." My love of color with more color and a splash of color turned into a neutral and one color. "I'm just embracing a trend," I told myself. I started to obsess over following trends and would stand in my closet and burn holes in everything with a hateful stare. When I told becca that I was contemplating trying nude lipstick, she was taken aback. "Who are you?" she asked. "I don't know," I answered. I felt like I had been living as the shadow of an idea of a person.
Last week, I was reading some of my old posts and enjoying some street style snaps when I realized what I had lost, something vital not only to my sense of style but also to my personal conduct and peace of mind. I had lost my whimsey and wonder.
My 30th birthday was in March. I am embarrassed to say that had freaked me out more than I wanted it to; however, the past few months have been a whirlwind of shifting responsibilities, lost trust, and the crushing weight of unrealized dreams. Somewhere in this bubbling quagmire of unpleasant realities, I drowned my whimsey and wonder.
Whimsey and wonder belong to the uncynical. The unbroken. The open. The curious. While wide-eyed gazes and unsolicited giggles are generally associated with children, I believe these traits are some of your most important weapons in staving off the ruts and weariness of adulthood.
I first noticed the problem in my wardrobe, and maybe that's a good starting point for reclaiming myself. If you will excuse me, I need to unbury the bright colors, giant bows, and ruffle skirts from my closet. I have a quagmire to wade through.