This post is brought to you by Silvia Night’s powerhouse performance Congratulations
It’s pretty safe to say, that I’m unique. Not in the sense, everybody is a unique snowflake. But genuinely different to most (if not all) people. The most obvious thing about my singularities is my sense of style, or the lack of according to some of my critics.
Growing up I tried desperately to be normal. I was extremely shy and spent quite a lot of time all by myself. I’d wear Minnie Mouse sweaters and other lovable Disney characters way longer than the other girls of my class. And I couldn’t hide behind the fact I was going for that nostalgic chic look, that didn’t emerge until a decade later.
I would generally buy new school clothes with my mother during our summer holidays abroad. I made a few fashion faux-pas by buying what we thought might be very hip and cool for the following winter. A faux lamb jacket comes to mind and all neon-green outfit (meaning, sweater, t-shirts, socks and trousers). Nothing remotely close to what anybody else was wearing at the time, and this is during the entire everybody needs to conform period, a.k.a. being a teenager. I did wish I dressed more like the other girls, but I just never really managed to get it right.
During collage, the requirements to conform were even higher, since I went to a posh collage, renowned for everybody looking exactly the same. Present company excluded, despite numerous attempts otherwise. Even though I’d more frequently go shopping during which period and pay close attention to what I should be wearing, I somehow always pathologically didn’t. I remember distinctly going to a party for end of 2nd year, where we got yearbooks for fellow students to sign. One of my classmates, wrote in my book: “ávallt tískulöggan” (e. “always the fashionista”). At first I thought she was making a joke at my expense. Later, I realized maybe she wasn’t. Reading from someone whose opinion I feared that my style wasn’t half bad was very encouraging. I might not have had the style others wanted to steal, but the fact I had my own style was worth while. A few months later I got offered to model for the cover of a school magazine. The theme was before and after make-over. I still don’t know why I got picked. I was most definitely a nobody in my year and it was the year above that was organizing the magazine. Somehow this girl with no name stood out. Was it because of my unique style? I like to think so.
In retrospect, since it was a make-over piece, maybe my style was so awful that the year above needed to take drastic measures to right this wrong. Lets hope I’m being paranoid, and it’s not the case.
University was liberating when it came to fashion fiends. There were hardly any other girls, so I could wear whatever I liked. There was no need to conform, we were too few for it to be noticed I wasn’t dressed normal. I kind of let myself go then, in what I bought, and since then there has been no turning back. My wardrobe is quite diverse now. I’m happy with it. I love my clothes. We have an understanding. I feel good, they feel good. It’s a mutual giving relationship. If people don’t like what I’m wearing, it’s fine by me. You don’t have to wear it. Actually, I’d prefer that they didn’t. My Camper Twins Ice Cream sandals are all mine, and not for borrowing. Sorry. They’re extremely comfortable and put a smile on my face. I’m not going to stop wearing them, despite however vulgar people may find them.
Like Mark Twain once said,
Clothes make the man
and I am no different. Mine just say I’m a modest version of Sylvía Nótt.