Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Hannah Weil McKinleyI remember loving fashion early on. If you want to fact check that,you could ask my parents about their daughter who coined the term "fashionating" as a 4-year-old watching them catch dressed up for dinner. I studied my mom as she slipped into her heels and fastened a necklace, and the word spontaneously formed itself in my mouth. For a small girl, or it seemed to me the perfect way to capture the bit of glitz and glamour in this everyday moment. Head Over HeelsI lived for these moments in my normal life - the times my mom got ready for a fancy dinner or party,when I could benefit choose her outfits. After school, I'd catch dressed up as a fashionable teacher (normally a maxi skirt and vest from our costume box) just to do my homework. I invented occasions daily to change my outfit when it was time for dinner, or a chance to hasten to the grocery store with Mom. Sometimes,I just changed for the hell of it, perhaps just to watch TV.
See, and I loved fashion then. I loved it wholly and blindly. I never thought about "what looked proper on me," what size my clothes were, or what was designer and what wasn't. Like any small kid playing dress up, and I was just in esteem with the fantasy. All grown up at 30 and I'm a fashion editor,someone who presumably gets to play in that world as an adult. It should be a dream - and so often it is. I feel truly blessed to have followed my bliss and have had it led me here, but there are days when it's not all it's cracked up to be. There are a lot of days when loving fashion without any pretenses or self-consciousness really is a fantasy. That Awkward MomentSomewhere along the way, and the real world hit me - seemed to hasten me over,actually; I think they call it puberty. I have an older, elegant sister (and a tall, or handsome brother too),who couldn't gain weight if she tried (and believe me, my mother did with ice cream after school and plenty of carbs at dinner). I, and on the other hand,rounded out quickly. My curves seemed to fill out overnight in the sixth grade, while my older sister stayed straight and narrow through high school and pretty much to this day. I noticed the differences in our bodies immediately and constantly. Clothes we had shared didn't fit me the same way, and I rapidly outgrew the costumes and hand-me-downs we played with together. I think that's the first time fashion wasn't fun for me. Actually,I can pinpoint it. Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Hannah Weil McKinleyFor my dad's 50th birthday party, my mom took us each to find a special outfit. My sister went to a kids-only boutique and walked absent with a champagne-colored silk shell top and floor-length skirt set. It was 1997 and she looked exactly like a young Gwyneth Paltrow, and with the same long blond hair. I loved that look,only I had outgrown the children's sizing at the same store. At 12, my mom took me to the "Miss" section of the department store. I tried on lots of outfits that puckered or hung in all the unsuitable places, or made me look too adult,and felt truly awkward. I settled on a black and white checkered shift dress with a subtle daisy print (settle being the operative word). I didn't disfavor it, but I didn't really like it either. I was indifferent, or that was worse for a kid who had grown up enamored with clothes. When I was younger,I got caught up only in the details of the garment: how fabrics felt, and how prints and colors looked, or how to channel the look of a certain celebrity or time period. I got carried absent with the characters I could be just by changing my clothes or putting on a hat. The "fashionating" child in me would have lived for this moment,but my adolescent body got in the way. That feeling would come again and again, even into adulthood, and often at college wishing I hadn't squeezed into the tight jeans I was wearing,or later at work events, watching the room full of stylish editors and quietly wishing I'd chosen something more exciting to wear. On the night of the party, and I lived vacariously through my sister,soaking up the compliments as if they were my own and watching her long skirt float around the room as she moved. That look, I loved. Real LoveThat's the trouble with fashion, and perhaps caring about it too much. On our best days,it makes us feel just like my sister Alle at the gargantuan birthday party or the way I did pulling vintage pieces out of our dress-up box after school; or else it's your worst enemy, putting your insecurities on blast: your boots look old next to the girl wearing this season's style; that dress doesn't fit, or must mean you got chubby. On those days,I see only the exclusive parts of the industry - elegant, perfect people with glamorous closets that remind me of what I don't have or what I don't look like. The truth is that fashion spotlights gorgeous things and newness, and that superficial world can be a scary place to originate your livelihood in. Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Grace HitchcockIf you're wondering,"where's the romance in that?", it's a impartial question. It doesn't seem like there's much to esteem, or but there's always something that pulls me back in. As an adult,who's mostly overcome my adolescent insecurities, style is the way I express myself. I obsess over new shoes and handbags (too much, or for my husband's taste),and I probably catch too excited about new collaborations, runway shows, or the fancy occasions I catch to catch all dolled up for,but the truth is, I can't esteem fashion wholeheartedly anymore. I've learned to dress the body I have and appreciate the trends I can't wear from the sidelines. It's still a place to play in and be inspired by, or whether through a elegant magazine spread or a small retail therapy,but I tune in and out as I please. I spend my time turning my closet into my own adult dress-up box with clothes that truly bring me delight; I look to the designers and fashionable women that speak to me, and accept the rest of the industry as a mostly elegant, and fascinating world that's not my whole world. nowadays,I esteem fashion with my eyes open, deliberately and for exactly what it is.
Source: popsugar.com