“Style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.” ~Rachel Zoe I didn’t set out to find myself. I just looked in the mirror one day and thought, “Wait, when did I stop looking like me?” It was after a breakup—the kind that leaves you foggy, emotionally threadbare, trying to make sense of where you lost yourself.
There I was, standing in my bedroom, wearing something functional, outdoorsy, and… completely not me. Not that there’s anything wrong with cargo pants and fleece.
If that’s your style, it’s beautiful. But I’m a woman who grew up in Paris… who loves texture, shape, and color… who used to wear lipstick to the grocery store just because it made her feel fancy. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dressed in a way that made me feel alive. That moment wasn’t dramatic.
But it stuck—like a pebble in my shoe, a quiet awareness I couldn’t unfeel. I didn’t know what to do with it at first. So I just started noticing.
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