I Am A Fashion Chameleon

I have a confession to make: I am a fashion chameleon. Growing up with a temporal family I have actually loaded my bags for moving more times than I care to keep in mind. Every time, the bags got smaller and my imagine fitting in got even smaller along with them. There was constantly a new school, brand-new homes and brand-new pals.

There was enjoyment, sure; however there was also a continuous sensation of discomfort and a have to alter myself. Each location brought with it a different woman; one that combined into her brand-new environment with a freshly found out language, new quirks, and brand name new clothing.

For many people, fashion is a method of expression; for me it was a support system. When I found myself lost or in shift I simply selected a brand-new character to play and let that character loose in a shopping mall. I would select bits and pieces of individuals around me and attempted to copy their appearance.

In true alien mode, I forced myself to appear like the residents of whatever location I occurred to inhabit at the time. I studied their behavior, the way in which they pronounced the words I had just seen in books, the design where they rolled up their jean cuffs. All I wanted was to suit.

High school was a painstaking experience, not just was I changing styles with every hormonal shift but I was also growing out of clothing quite quickly. Possibly if I wasn't attempting so hard to be like others, I could have spared myself the headache of continuously clearing out my storage room in tears. In my last year, I was encouraged that my closet and personality were completely developed, I might not have been more wrong.

I was addicted to change. I was on a downward spiral and fashion transformation was my drug of option.

4 years in university kicked my trendy butt in tedious ways. While many kids my age were trying out substance abuse and their sexuality, I was experimenting with platforms and fur coats. Every new good friend I made was an excuse to try a new design. This is when it meeting me, I was addicted to alter. I was on a down spiral and fashion metamorphosis was my drug of choice.

Being much older now and in control of my character I find that purchasing clothing is a lot less eventful. I still get thrilled by styling attire (as I ought to in my occupation) however the high I used to obtain from wearing someone else's personality is gone. Possibly that is exactly what growing up is, abandoning the fluttery frame of mind you when had and exchanging it for a rigorous, highly-developed version of yourself.

Nearly like branding a product to provide in a conference. Other than in this case the product is you and the group you're providing to is the remainder of the world.

Do I miss out on the insane woman that wore furry boots and mini-skirts in the middle of summertime? When I experience someone with an amazing sense of style I imagine myself in their clothes (and in their life, truly) but I no longer hurry to the store to re-mold myself.

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