A body is simply a finite box for an infinite mind. However, there's omnipresent societal expectations about what an ideal body is, how one should decorate themselves, and the manner in which they should present themselves. These ideals are laden with a ridiculous amount of importance, especially as a woman living in a world that tells us that we’re only worth as much as our physical appearance. As a young girl, these pressures of petite beauty and dainty femininity used to pollute my mind, manifesting themselves as crippling self doubt and an eating disorder. I found myself shrinking to try and fit into the boxes I was assigned. Boxes that say a woman is only complete once she captures the attention of a man. This engrained notion that I was meant to be merely an ornament. 

              Within my first year of high school, it became apparent that I was never going to fit comfortably within traditional femininity. I was brash and spoke my mind and tried to compensate by mimicking the fashion choices of girls who were desired. They seemed to effortlessly entice those around them with their wily and graceful charm. That never came naturally to me; my clothes felt restrictive, like the identity I was trying to take on was consuming me whole. But it seemed incredibly daunting to consider that there was an alternative way to prove my worth other than trying to fit into a smaller size of jeans. 

           As the year progressed, I had increasingly prominent ideas about how our experiences assemble our souls and how the conception of machinery altered the world's trajectory. With all of my new knowledge, it seemed foolish that I was shrinking myself into a crumb when my mind was becoming so expansive. I became resentful toward the overwhelmingly misogynistic taxes that had been placed on me. My attempt to thwart the patriarchy and diet culture came in the form of fashion. I realized that I was trying to make myself fit the clothes instead of finding clothes that fit me. I was finally able to reclaim my femininity and identity because I was creating the rules. I could wear dresses with pants or skirts with baggy sweaters and feel perfectly girly and content without showcasing my body as the center point. I started wearing bold and vibrant colors and not hiding myself away anymore. By not adhering to the external pressure to conform, I finally felt like myself and even more feminine than before.

             Fashion became an obsession, an intoxicating challenge, that I couldn’t step away from. I spent hours at thrift stores finding items that people once loved. I learned to breathe life back into these forgotten clothes and pair the colors and patterns to how I felt internally. I began reading about the environmental aspects of fast fashion and how damaging it is to the climate. I learned about Marxist feminism and the effects of consumerism on women. I started to question gender roles and what defines ‘femininity.’ Fashion was my gateway drug into a whole new fluid world.

           This new fervor pushed me to challenge the world around me. I realized I didn’t have to accept situations as the ultimatum; there is always another angle. It’s impossible to imagine myself without the passion, innovative spirit, and secure identity that fashion has given me. Now a constant rumble of thoughts and ideas whirl through my brain. It’s become essential to who I am to pour these feelings into my clothes, making sure they seep into every stitch. Through fashion I’m able to express my internal sentiment without uttering a word. Saving my brain power for more important things like how to make the best vegan tacos–the secret is seitan–or what to title my latest poem. This breakthrough brings me tremendous solace, and my body is once again simply a mannequin for my latest creation.