#2: Why Does It Take So Long for Some People (a.k.a. Me) to Find Their Style?

Is there a word for when you carefully pick out your outfit, double-check in the mirror to make sure you look good, then leave the house only to immediately regret your decision the first time you see your reflection? If not, they need one because if I had a dollar for every time that’s happened, well, you know.

The mirrors in my house must be tricking my eyes because what initially looked like a fit with clean color coordination and proportions that maximized my chances of getting recognized on the street and kickstarting my modeling career quickly devolves into a messy combination of synthetic materials and regret.

My fashion sense is better these days, but I still struggle to understand how and why it took so long to dress competently. Is that just a part of growing up, or was my younger self unconsciously taking a stand against societal standards by saying, “I’ll wear what feels comfortable, regardless of what you think,” while my older self, who has largely “fallen in line” with the realities of life, has accepted those standards?

Growing Up

By all definitions, I would certainly consider myself a “late bloomer.” I don’t think I truly cared about how cohesive and modish my outfit was before leaving the house until I was already an adult in university. It’s not that I didn’t care how I looked or what others thought of me (believe me, I most definitely did). I suppose I just didn’t see the point at the time.

After all, I was doing well in school, had a solid friend group, no relationship at the time, and overall, I guess I was just happy with things without feeling like I had to look or dress a certain way. Looking back, I’m sure there were days when my outfits prompted whispers and laughter as I passed through the hallways, but like I said, I didn’t feel any particular pressure to do anything about it.

Fast-forward to university, and I really started experimenting with new outfits. My first phase was Vans and skinny jeans. Then, during what I like to call my Mumford & Sons era, I frequently wore flannel, grew out my hair, and went through a man-bun phase (pro tip: if you’re unsure whether you’d look better in a man bun or another haircut, there’s a 99% chance it’s the latter).

This is also so lame to admit, but I had a “cuffed” phase where I would literally cuff all of my clothes—jeans, T-shirts, etc.—to show off my nonexistent muscles. And these are just a few off the top of my head.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I very much appreciate the things I’ve learned over the years about what I think generally looks good and what doesn’t, but man, I just wish the growing pains hadn’t taken so long.

These Days

I struggle with how I feel about writing this, to be honest with you. On one hand, I look back at some pictures of myself and think, “No way you actually wore this out in public.” And to be fair, a few specific instances are certainly worthy of that criticism. But on the other hand, when I look at other pictures, I can’t help but feel bad about how critical I am of my past self.

After all, what’s wrong with wearing Vans, skinny jeans, flannels, and man buns? I thought it looked good at the time. I was happy and felt good, so what exactly was the problem? Moreover, why now, during a period when I would say my fashion sense is at its peak, am I the most self-conscious, particular, and critical of it?

Maybe it’s one of those “ignorance is bliss” situations, or maybe I truly had it right back then: perhaps the best outfit is the one I feel most comfortable in, regardless of past or present trends.

Well… no, that can’t be the case. After all, there are standards in our world for what looks good and what doesn’t, right? Surely there are dress codes, both official and unofficial, that we must adhere to in order to access different social circles and opportunities. After all, if I wore my old Green Lantern T-shirt out to the bars on a Saturday night with my friends, not only would they give me disapproving looks, but so would the bouncer and most of the other bar-goers.

So is it just an act, then? Have I become someone who simply dresses to impress without giving much thought to what I’m conveying or, moreover, whether I even like what I’m wearing?

I’m starting to think the best cultural shift that could possibly happen is if Nike Elites and Sperrys made a comeback. But, doubtful that would happen, I’m left here wondering why I’ve made something that should be so easy so complicated.

… okay, let’s take a step back.

I think my overthinking may have caused me to fabricate a problem that doesn’t exist.

Honestly, if you want to attend an event where the dress code is either explicit or implied (business casual, goth night at the club, etc.) and you dress accordingly, it doesn’t have to mean you’re conforming to some greater system. Sometimes you just dress to fit the vibe, and that’s all it is.

And if you want to keep up with the latest fashion trends and expedite the growing pains so as not to make the mistakes I did, ask a girl friend or Reddit.

And hey, if you really are feeling yourself in those skinny jeans, flannel, and man bun, you only live once, so who is anyone to tell you otherwise? At worst, you’ll have some funny pics to look back on.

Also, take more pictures of yourself while you’re young—your older self will thank you for it.