Style: Freeing and Trapping

My black and green sketchers from the sales rack are my worst fucking enemy, and they taunt me every time I’m made aware of their presence on my feet. 

 

When I was a kid, my mom would dress me, as parents do, and I’d throw such a fit when she’d squeeze me into a turtleneck sweater and a pair of Levi's jeans. Nowadays that’s the fashion for real, but that’s beside the point. 

 

Growing up I never felt like I got to explore my own personal style. When my mom couldn’t afford to buy us clothes anymore, sometime around middle school, I remember the day that I realized that I wasn’t like the other girls in my class. I was sitting in the gym while some of the girls were talking about their new Ugg boots, which at the time I knew I didn’t really like, but also knew that I would commit a misdemeanor to get my hands on a pair so I could be like them. I was wearing a pair of black and green boy’s sketchers from the sales rack at JC Penny’s. My classmates were quick to remind me that they were not girl’s shoes, and I lied to hide my embarrassment and said that I liked them anyways. I tried pulling down on my jeans as they were a few inches above my ankle, but they were too tight for me to get a good grab on them to pull them down. They simply didn’t fit anymore. 

 

Fast forward to 15-year-old me, and I got my first job, and my first taste at some clothes from a “real” store, rather than hand-me-downs or Goodwill, and boy was I high. I mean, I bought myself a graphic t-shirt from Kohl’s and damn near levitated out of the store. I finally thought I was free to explore my style for real, I mean I had the power. And then I realized that this isn’t the case. I still had to dress according to other peoples’ expectations of me.

 I remember the one and only time I ever wore leggings to school so I could be like the other girls, and boy was that a mistake. Multiple other girls, even ones that were wearing leggings, were calling me out, saying I was breaking dress code and asking me what I was wearing. After that day, I never wore leggings again. Still haven’t, but not for that reason. 

 

So I’m sure we’ve all heard those cozy stories about dress code violations that girls have committed, where their spaghetti-strap tank tops were too distracting for the males around them, or their shorts were an inch above their fingertips when their arms rested by their sides so they had to spend the day in the office, ya know those stories. I’m convinced that the only ones who are made uncomfortable from the dress codes in schools are the girls who are committing these heinous crimes. Girls like that, girls like me, we deserve to be scrutinized by adults who want so badly to protect us from being objectified, or from possibly affecting the education of the poor, witless boys that are forced to be near us. 

 

It wasn’t until after I graduated high school that I started to feel that I didn’t need to live by other peoples’ expectations. I started exploring new clothes that I’d always wanted to be able to wear but were just out of my comfort zone, so I never had. Now, a little background for you- I’m from the U.P., born and raised, right next to Escanaba. Y’all ever seen Escanaba In Da Moonlight? Well “buckless yooper” is a real thing by the way. Anyways, my hometown population is 1500 and I’d never moved anywhere until I moved down here for school. There’s something about the city where you don’t know everybody and their brother that makes you feel brave. The change of scenery was the push that I needed to finally be whoever the fuck I really wanted to be on any given day of the week. 

 

 I think it’s normal to fear the judgment of others, but I’ve learned over time that that’s just something you gotta put away in your back pocket of your Levi’s jeans, and find it within yourself to be confident and comfortable enough to wear what makes you happy. Your style is supposed to be freeing, but so often we don’t get that side of it, and instead let ourselves be trapped by style, by what’s the style. My style was an extension of myself, and by modifying and diluting my style to fit the expectations of others, I was doing the same thing with who I am as a person because I was scared of being different, of not being what other people thought I should be. I should be able to wear a dress, or a skirt, or high heels, and not feel like I’m pretending to be someone else while I wear it, because people are complex. We have lots of sides to who we are, and we should be able to express each part, no matter how small it is, and that is how you begin to really know someone. Do they have the courage to be themselves, or are they stuck the way I was in middle school, hoping to be the same as everyone else. 

 

Life’s short. Wear the fuckin Sketchers.