Exciting, fresh and as new as Beyonce's recently released album, immersing myself into the ever-changing world of fashion was a revelation in my eyes and I thoroughly enjoyed the time that I dedicated almost all of my Mars bar-based energy upon reading up on the latest trends, quickly making attempts to copy the styles which made my heart soar higher than the moon.
I was only around eleven at the time that I began to take an interest into the catwalk and, of course, the beautiful clothes which were adorned by the 'inspirational' models, as termed by the artistic designers who produced a wonderful spectacle for the world to pour their attention over, so you can correctly picture myself glowing brighter than a just-installed lightbulb - where I live in England, I couldn't possibly be further away from the excitement surrounding a glamorously staged catwalk show, let alone be faced with the possibility of getting my hands upon a dress which only a Hollywood superstar would be capable of slipping into (with or without the aid of Spanx). And like 99.9% of all children, once I found something new to think about, I literally dropped everything else I was doing to dote my attention upon a classic Dolce & Gabbana dress; what else could have been more fun?
Despite never fulfilling my existing desire to splash out on a designer handbag (some passions die hard, don't you think?), keeping up with the trends on a budget which typically extended to an occasional spree at New Look or my now beloved H&M all but consumed my free time, but I never once complained about the long paths which I willingly followed to pick up a dress that even Coco Chanel herself would have been proud of having in her wardrobe. Whilst my brother gained more momentum with his hobby of collecting football cards (a habit of which has recently morphed into a collection of valuable comic books), fashion rapidly became my outlet for fun and it was the sight of neon crop tops and sunny patterns which kept my spirits stable during a dark, cloudy winter; in many ways, I relied upon the power of fashion in order to keep myself happy because it played a massive role of defining myself as a person whilst puberty gained an ever-stronger hold upon me. And although I have since waved goodbye to rolling my head back in uncontrollable laughter at the ghastly sight of a clown turning up at London Fashion Week (oops, stupid typing error; didn't I mean a wildly dressed model?), I still owe plenty of gratitude towards fashion preventing me from going insane when the maddening perils of adolescence issued a threat towards destroying all happiness that I ever wished to have.
Exactly as I did many years ago with donning the immature shades of pink clothing from my wardrobe to ridding my drawers of Bratz dolls - deep inside yourself, you always know that the end of a delightful era has come when you decapitate a scantily-clad Bratz doll without crying buckets about the horrifying action - I gradually grew out of fashion, shifting my interests to a wider selection of hobbies and doing whatever I want in general. Unlike the plastic Barbies I chucked away years ago, there were no bittersweet farewells or pangs of sadness at finishing a remembered chapter in my life because my once all-powerful penchant for fashion has not died a painful death; to this day, I gain plenty of pleasure by simply pairing various jumpers (for I've always had the tendency to turn into a cool marble stone within seconds of being exposed to the cold) and trousers or skirts together, but clothes are definitely no longer the end- and be-all of the manner in which I express my unique sense of style. Whatever I place over my English rose-tinted skin isn't an automatic indicator of my style because make-up and jewellery matter a whole lot more to me since I've gotten older; in fact, I'm more likely to think about the coloured eyeliner or type of gold earrings I'll team with an outfit than basing everything else on one single piece of clothing.
Like many things, age teaches you thousands of lessons which you don't even think twice about following every day, and the clothes and accessories I wear remain honest to the rule, particularly as my interests can flatuate on nearly a daily basis. Several years ago, a floaty, beige-coloured skirt ideal for wearing at the beach would have greatly interested me - despite having a secret passion for grunge-inspired pieces, almost nothing can pull me away from feminine and oh-so-girly styles - but nowadays I would far prefer to don a pair of dark denim shorts because they would be a practical addition to my wardrobe. Unlike everything else in the world, I really cannot have a proper opinion on clothes because I follow whatever my heart is telling me without questioning it; basically, if I like the sight of something, it doesn't matter in slightest whether it is associated with a certain style which may not necessarily be linked to my own. At the end of the day, I'm strongly against particular stereotypes because they only tend to offend and misjudge people, so I constantly bear my views in mind with everything - and there is no doubt as to fashion being included!
So, whenever I'm asked about what sort of trends and styles that I'm into, I find it oh-so-hard to muster an answer which the majority of people would understand. Since I broke free of following the fashion-conscious crowd as to what they would or not wear, the only person whom I've been following is none other than my trendsetting self, and I feel happier than ever relating to my on-going relationship with fashion. As with so many things which I'm bound to come across in life, the least of my wishes is to be placed into a categorized box for the whole population to judge upon. Wherever I go and whatever I do, there will always be things which I do and don't like, but I couldn't care less about other peoples' opinions because I'm only interested in staying true to my own. As long as I don't walk out of the door whilst looking like a complete wreck, my clothing of choice isn't highlighted as a massive problem!
Regardless of how old I get (what a lovely thought!), I would probably have to disappear off the face of earth to avoid falling into the welcoming embrace of fashion because part of myself still squeals with delight whilst browsing occasionally on the Dior website. At this rate, the desire to drain my bank account in order to make my dream of purchasing a Louis Vuitton handbag a reality will never really go away, but I'm pretty much fine with that; getting a bargain in an online H&M is more than enough to produce a smile to lit up my face like a tropical-scented candle. I am who I am and I've made a pact to never fall prey to peer pressure or the wrong messages sent out by others - clothes represent a glorious part of myself, one of which is likely to last a lifetime.
And what can a fashionista say to that?
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