By Livi Lyman

Fashion was never about looking the best; it was never about wearing the most expensive clothes or the trendiest accessories. It was about feeling like myself and controlling what I could in a world of anxiety and perception.

Spending time curating a new look, where I get to express and impress a new part of me, is a new experience I get to connect with every day. Fashion is redefined and reabsorbed into a new creation every moment — in every person.

In a lot of ways, fashion is a privilege. Time, money and anxiety are a dangerous cocktail. We all could find time to make the cocktail, or honestly, just get over it. Easier said than done, right?

I have been a girl for 19 years, a person for three and a moldable piece of ‘being’ for about half that. It was when I moved to California in the 5th grade that the word anxiety actually took on some weight. 

Why did I still wear gauchos — the below-the-knee wide-leg yoga pants from the 90s and 2000s? Or chunky sandals — the 2000s stint that convinced you that you didn’t need to be tall to be a model. And why the hell did I cut my hair into a half bob on one side and past my shoulders on the other?

I did everything possible to be like everyone else, a trend that wasn’t cool anymore when I went into high school, because then all of a sudden, all that hard work was characterized as … basic. Now, it’s so cool to be different. But be careful — you can’t be too different. 

Playing between the dichotomy of feeling like myself and blending in was an anxious pull between defining my existence and not being singled out. So, I played it safe. I flew under the radar, talking to no one but my select friends. But god, did I start to dress up — at least, as much as one can in a conservative town. It wasn’t until the end of junior year, after COVID-19 hit, that dressing up in ways that made me feel good became so much more worth it than dressing for those 45-minute classes. It was the perfect cover; no one would have the nerve to call me out in a private chat over Zoom. I was in a curated space to grow. My confidence grew, and so did my friendships. When I could finally go back to school halfway through my senior year, GOD did I dress up. Was Liv going to be goth, a beach bum, a hippie, or a dyke? No one knew, and neither did I.

I got dress-coded pretty much every day at my conservative high school. Being told how I dressed and how I looked wouldn’t land me a job, friends or a partner, and I started to fade back into where I was in 5th grade. Why does getting older not mean feeling wiser? It was my 25th dress code, this time for having baggy ripped jeans, when they started the conversation with, “So, you got voted best dressed by your peers.” They continued with their lecture on conservatism, but the rest of their dialogue faded away. I didn’t have to be the most confident, prettiest, have the most friends or even say a word. How I expressed myself through my clothing and make-up was enough — and people noticed. It finally made me notice, too. I don’t have to be everyone’s cup of tea, I wasn’t supposed to be! 🙂

Fashion doesn’t have a destination; it’s about the journey it took to get there. Unlocking how fashion fits with our identity and how our identity fits with our fashion is an ever-evolving experience. I invite you to continue with me on my weekly journey as I unpack the fashion world. Share it with me at my monthly photo shoot. There, you can get a ‘fit-check’ picture taken, get quoted for the paper, and be part of the monthly collage of fashion. Email me at oel6@humboldt.edu to sign up for a photoshoot and for more information!