Why I Turned to Fashion

Sometimes you have to stand out before you can fit in.

Ah, fashion. What a complicated thing it is. We’ve all found ourselves face-to-face with this phenomenon, trying to figure out what makes it tick. Fashion is like Regina George. Everyone wants to be it. Everyone wants to have it. If you're its friend, it can elevate you to the top of the social ladder, yet with one fell swoop, one mistake, you'll come crashing right to the bottom. For years, my relationship with fashion was that of the kid who sits in the row in front of Fashion - the occasional smile in the hallway, the once-in-a-few-months invite to a house party, and the burning desire to be its best friend.

My story begins in the good old days of school. Schools in India work the way private schools do in North America. You're in the same institution with the same classmates pretty much all your life. If you were lucky, they knew you at your core, loved you deeply, and tried their best to not mock you when you were going through your 'Ed Hardy t-shirt with Crocs' phase because - let's be honest - they probably didn't know better. As with any school-going child, there was always a desire to fit in and I was fortunate enough to grow up with a group of affectionate pals. I enrolled in the school I graduated from at the tender age of 7, when it mattered more how fast you ran, rather than the stitch of the dress you were wearing. As a result, going into my teen years, I never faced the torment of needing to fit in. By default, I already did.

Growth happens outside your comfort zone, and I was sitting smack-dab in the middle of mine. I was a hard-working student from a conservative family. School, tennis, home – it was my everyday routine. At that age, my career aspirations were my Dad's and my sense of style was my Mom's - a foreign education, and an A-line shirt with jeans and sneakers, and I had not one reason in the world to change it. I would sometimes wonder what it would be like to wear just a mini skirt and a strappy tank top on a day out with my friends, but the wonder would leave as quickly as it came. I would immediately realize that I neither had the confidence in my body, nor the freedom from my parents to dress in anything less that modest, and that 'revamping' my style was neither a priority nor a need.

Before I knew it, I was going to university. It’s quite humbling when you pack everything you own into two large suitcases and move a world away to start a life different from anything you’ve ever known. I say this in retrospect. At the time, I couldn’t have been more ecstatic. I was moving to a city by the sea to fulfill every possible cliché of college life I had seen in the movies. Moving into Residence, becoming best friends with my roommate, hanging out with my floor members, eating the delicacies of meal hall - I would never have a problem fitting in, I thought. I went to an international school. I watched American television. I could quote Friends in my sleep. I knew what to expect.

I still remember what I was wearing my first day at SMU – probably also because I have some unfortunate photographic evidence. A pink graphic tee with ill-fitted black skinny jeans and sneakers. It was practical, comfortable, and oh-so fashion-forward in my opinion. I went through Welcome Week in my tees and Pumas, making as many friends out of acquaintances as I possibly could. I was a natural. Until I realized I really wasn’t.

Travellers from the West to the East are often told to educate themselves before their adventures. Culture shock can be a real thing for someone who’s never seen our side of the planet. The same applies for someone going the other way. I just didn’t know it. Within my first few weeks of school, I began to flounder. I quickly began understanding I had moved from an environment where I had known the same people all my life, to not knowing a soul I shared the hallways with. A small school like SMU saw a lot of local students enroll. They embarked on this journey along with their besties from high school, and it seemed that any friend group I interacted with was already complete. So, I did what any reasonable international student would do. I surrounded myself with South Asian and international friends because they were the only ones which whom I intellectually fit. To me, they “got it”.

It dawned on me within a short period of time that those who look like me don’t necessarily think like me. A foolish realization but one I needed, nonetheless. I began to see the cracks forming in my new-found friendships and doubts arising about if I was really happy where I was. I had no family with me, no friends I could wholeheartedly trust, and I felt more out of control than I had been in all of my years. I was in an environment where I looked different, thought different, and felt different. I wanted so badly to know what it would take to feel like I could live in harmony with the world around me, without losing the essence of who I saw in the mirror. The age-old adage told me that all I had to do was “be myself”, but myself was just not seeming to cut it.

It was at that time that I came to understand that for someone like me, there really was no fitting in. I had to create a place for myself in this foreign environment, midway between the mould of home and the ways of the West. The easiest metamorphosis I could plough through at the time was that of my wardrobe. A tad expensive, I admit, but “dress for the job you want, not the job you have”, right?

I slowly began swapping out my printed tees for V-neck basics, my dangling earrings for statement studs, my straight cut jeans for a skinnier fit, and my comfy sneakers for a pair of pumps. It was the first time I had ever dressed myself of my own accord, for nobody else but me to feel good about. I started wearing my lengthy tresses down instead of in a braid and grew more confident in my skin after losing 15 pounds of baby fat. The idea was to dress the same or even better than those around me, hoping to eliminate the fact that I didn’t traditionally belong. And to my pleasure, it wasn’t going unnoticed.

Compliments and enquiries about my outfits started drifting in. I was asked to join in on shopping trips and asked my opinion about whether Vans or wedges are a better match with a denim jacket. I started becoming more at home in front of a camera, and I felt like I was becoming a piece of the puzzle while staying enough of a misfit to have a relevant point of view. I was beginning to combine the knowledge from my roots, and my learnings from my new home to physically mould myself into the person I so desperately wanted to be. ‘Myself’ was finally feeling good enough.

So, there is a happy ending to this story. My depths of misplacement led me to stumble across one of the biggest passions of my life – fashion and style, and truly taught me how to stay honest to myself but being unafraid to take risks. Fashion paved the way for me to blossom and find myself, and was the cushion I needed when I was falling the hardest I ever have. So, I did it. I became best friends with Regina George. It’s been a rocky road, but what can I say? I don’t regret it in the least.