I mostly grew up with my wardrobe being my best-friend. The more days passed, the more I was preoccupied by the thoughts of new attires, dreaming about the different versions of myself. It almost opened up a new world to me, one which I later realized to be a counterfeit version of a real one-a world that only made me feel elated, uplifted and entrapped, sometimes.
As a kid I remember being drawn to stores with pretty clothing and accessories. It was a magical world where sequins told me that life is meant to be shiny and full of sparkles; furs enchanted me with their warmth and poised stature; florals guided me to find the colours of my life; and boots enlightened me to stay tall and strong. I couldn’t resist my comrades; they made me beautiful. Most of the time, to full my demands, I threw tantrums just like every other kid does. But every object that a kid wants usually has an alternative; mine didn’t. I wanted ‘those’ specific items that I had set my eyes upon right then and there. I knew nothing of alternative habits or time. I was a stubborn kid.
As time flew by, I realized that clothing and footwear would be my soul mate. I felt they understood and wanted me. You ask why? It was because I saw a lot of myself in clothing. The process of turning into something so beautiful and elegant yet ignoring the long, tiresome and painful process was a binding link between my imagination and reality. The first time I heard the quote “Clothes tell you who you are” made me very assertive of the fact that my wardrobe was my identity and this identification of mine needed to be planted, gardened and shown all the love and beauty of this world. But the more I got things that I wanted and enjoyed, the more my desire to seek better things started and this long run of ‘cat and mouse’ began. I was continuously moving onto my defined version of ‘better’ and it wouldn’t cease. It had me wondering what was the power that makes us search so desperately for something that is ‘better’? And who had set the definition for a ‘better’ version?
Mostly, I had been drawn towards sequins, fur and latex. Their shiny outer selves and thickened masked exteriors taught me to be a shell and to seal my insecurities into the darkest pit of my brain, not my heart. I believed that a naive human heart can never be restricted especially in matters of shiny sequins. I never throw away clothes that are old or don’t fit me anymore because they show me the tales of my disruptive, real and unpolished behaviour. Also, I believe they are the roadway to embracing my madness, ingenuity and passion. I feel less burdened and relieved.
As I pen this down, I’ve realized now that this chapter of obsession with clothes and fashion opened up a new arena in my life, both emotionally and physically. It has helped me accept what life is and how unexpected it can be. I have transcended onto this journey of accepting and knowing myself and believing that whatever I turn into, I shall be a beautiful, varied silk straight out of my cocoon.
As for my obsession with fashion, I’ve learnt and am still learning that clothes are an art form despite what anyone will tell you. But the only drawback that constantly rings in my mind: Where am I to keep all these clothes?
“The Unconditional Love of Clothes”
Text by Tejashee Kashyap @tejashee_kashyap
