The day was young, and I was staying in London, so naturally, I had to act like I was too cool to care, very European. Picture it: tailored slacks, black vintage vest, patent leather platforms, for the edge, and sunglasses that make it look like I was from the future, for the drama. With an iced coffee in hand, I strutted down the London street like I was on a mission.
And then I tripped, and I can assure you the sunglasses were no longer the most dramatic accessory on my outfit. Yes, it was the iced coffee.
Humbled? 100%. But here’s the thing: fashion is about faking until you make it. We use clothes to blur our awkwardness, to feel braver than we are, to wear the versions of ourselves we wish could walk into the room. And sometimes? That ‘lie’ becomes the truth.
Fashion as Fiction
We all have that one outfit. The one that makes you look like you’ve got your life together, even though you’re completely spiraling inside. Mine? An oversized blazer that I somehow fit into every look, like it’s my security blanket. I might be on the verge of a meltdown, but the blazer says I could host an NPR segment or easily slide into an episode of Succession.
We are conditioned to associate polish with power. Structure with success. And when everything around us is susceptible to change, we use clothes to claim some control. And honestly, what better remedy for the chaos than playing dress-up?
But this is not about deception or even just control, it’s more like… telling a story. We are trained by media, fashion, and even our own Pinterest boards to crave “aesthetics” as proof of authenticity. So our closets? They don’t just belong to “us,” they belong to the versions of us we’re still becoming. They’re filled with costumes for characters we’re all still trying out, like:
“The girl who walks mysteriously through bookstores” (because you’re trying to read more and become effortlessly worldly).
or…
“The powerful girl, but emotionally self-aware” (ideal for pretending like LinkedIn actually changed your life).
or even…
“The soft and sad artist in a beret” (because why not celebrate a little bit of misery).
But the truth is: no one is handing us a script on who to be. We aren’t dressing for the life we have, we’re dressing for the one we want. And that’s not faking it, that’s just simply having faith. It’s one of the bravest, most hopeful things we can do. And that’s wearing the costume until we become the character.
The Thin Line Between Performance Vs. Authenticity
We say that we’re just “expressing ourselves,” but half the time we’re putting on a performance. Sometimes for others, often for ourselves. But who can blame us? Being raised in the era of hyper-visability causes fashion to become less about what we like and more about what looks best online.
Like Zendaya’s looks during her press tour for her 2024 film, Challengers. Every outfit was curated around her character, the spunky tennis pro with an affluent background. Yes, it was promotion. But beyond that, it was storytelling and branding. The wardrobe didn’t sell the movie, it sold her. Proved Zendaya capable of her character, as someone who is untouchable. It was calculated, but it also felt real. Fashion is allowed to be both.
There’s a major difference between trying on confidence and trying to cover up who you are. It’s just a subtle shift in intention: is your outfit a celebration of you, or a distraction from it?
And the trickiest part is that only you can answer that. Because some days, throwing on a ratty old sweatshirt that is a comfort to you, is self-love, other days it could be emotional camouflage.
Both are okay. And sometimes fashion isn’t deep at all. Sometimes, it really is just clothes. But when the performance starts to feel more comfortable than the person underneath it all, it might be time to strip back, like literally.
You’re still you without the blazer, or the boots, or the title, or the iced coffee all over the front of your vintage vest. But if those things help you get through the day, wear them with pride.