The colorful clothes I wear are dumb.
The fun prints I wear are stupid.
I flip through my vibrant, clothes-filled closet, brushing past my bright neon yellow track jacket, stumbling on my vintage Schiaparelli leopard print coat and landing on my white lace flower detailed button-up.
A hard decision presents itself: to choose what I adorn myself in stands in my way.
The questioning inside my mind begins.
Do I pick the clothes that best represent me or do I choose to be someone else?
A bubbling sensation inside my mind begins to fizzle.
What would people think of an individual who chooses to wear something so flamboyant?
The fizzling inside my mind spreads, coursing through my nerves and traveling throughout my body, starting in my head and ending in my toes.
Fully enveloped within my own feelings, anxiety has taken its course and has eaten me for dinner.
Within my own anxiety-filled mind, the decision between light and dark still rages on.
Does one choose to wear the white lace top tucked away in the closet or is the decision more suited toward wearing the simple black t-shirt hidden away?
Hidden away to hide the past of who I once was.
A black t-shirt representing the past filled with regrets. A regret to not be authentically me.
A past of a scared little boy who was frightened of stepping outside of the box, filled with thoughts of self-hatred.
This back and forth between myself only exists in my own head.
The fashion flu, an illness that many have succumbed to within the fashion community, is an overwhelming feeling of being dissatisfied when it comes to clothes.
My fashion illness is a constant factor in my life that allows my anxiety to prevail against me.
It’s a challenge that I have yet to overcome, but rather learned to cope with. Having these feelings of anxiety is something that is still present within me.
Nineteen percent of U.S. adults had any anxiety disorder in the past year, according to NIMH. The statistic translates to about 50 million people in the country.
This feeling of anxiety causes me to feel like I am not good enough, that I’m someone who is just simply faking it till they make it.
My anxiety is a threat to my happiness when it comes to how I dress and act.
My anxiety will occasionally stop me from presenting my true authentic self to the world. This illness inside of me dictates what I do and how I dress.
I’m not good enough to make it into the complex world of fashion.
Everything I choose to adorn myself with feels as though it will never be enough.
Having no appreciation for myself when it comes to walking out of the house. My anxiety poses a huge battle within me.
On a normal day out of my house, I chose to wear four-inch vintage platforms, combined with ridiculously oversized shorts that go to my shins, a fancy sweater and sometimes a silly hat.
A new take on street style comes with unsatisfactory opinions.
Displaying my most authentic version of myself comes with hate. Walking through the streets of Los Angeles, I am turning heads with my outward fashion choices.
Closer to home at ECC, students turn to look at me. Often engaging with friends and laughing and pointing.
The stares from people of all ages and walks of life are not always pleasant. Many of them look disgusted.
Fear strikes me down.
Fearful of being attacked in the city streets, I’m disgusted by the reactions caused by an outfit that is out of the norm.
An outfit that made me feel amazing has now caused me to feel shame.
This fear triggers my impostor syndrome, making me feel stupid in how I’m presenting myself. Making me revert back to who I once was.
A scared little boy who was afraid to be who he really is. Scared of making bold choices or rocking the boat and choosing instead to blend in the best he could.
This little boy would hear the word “gay” and a panic would run down his spine. I was afraid to be my most authentic self, worried that my clothes would label me and out who I truly am.
That same little boy would cry because he wore shoes he thought were too crazy, instead choosing to wear basic Converse to try to blend in with the crowd.
An insecure child who did not dare step outside of the box.
I have second thoughts on what I wear and how I present myself to the world.
Am I even wearing an outfit that I am proud of rather than just being delusional?
But I am no longer this scared little boy who allows distasteful comments to get to him. I take the hateful criticism and wear it as a badge of honor.
A badge of honor that represents how anxiety is still prevalent within me.
The fashion flu is still a sickness that is incurable. Rather than curing the sickness I have chosen to live with and learn from it.
Learning to put aside this feeling of anxiety and cope with my feelings head on. Confronting the distasteful voices in my head.
Shouting out to me, “You’re not good enough.”
However, hope and courage prevail through the voices. Defeating the insecure child that I once was.
All through middle school and high school, I was afraid to be my most authentic self, afraid of the repercussions that I was met with on a weekly basis. Talks of my sexuality were heard through the halls, plaguing my inner thoughts.
I had to look outward to fix what was happening inward and beginning to look in the mirror and see who I really was.
A battle with one’s mind that my heart has won.
Getting to this place of acceptance happened over the years. As years pass and continue to pass, you learn to stop caring what people think.
I am to take ownership of my life and no longer allow hateful voices to rise above and dictate my life.
My anxiety is still present within me but now there is another factor that has been introduced into my life.
Confidence has saved me.
That confidence has allowed me to rise above the hateful comments and continue to pursue my interest in fashion.
Learning to breathe in, relaxing my thoughts within me to comfort myself. My anxiety will forever be with me, but it is now my duty that I owe the little boy in me who was afraid to fight it.
