On Style, Personality, and Freedom

In terms of identity, there have been a few forms that have consistently dominated my self-expression terrain, and those have translated through every stage of my life.

S T Y L E

I’ve always found expression through style fascinating, even since my style-impaired days. Actually, even my style-impaired days made a statement, albeit an unfortunate one.

I was seeing the world through my first pair of nerdy, rectangle glasses, feeling gloomed and doomed, paired with my matching Children’s Place sweatshirt and sweatpants. (Lol, third grade was a little rough. The Children’s Place did hold it down for me, though.)

I remember the first week my mom let me dress myself. I was a mess. I paired bright, striped turtle necks with corduroy pants and who knows what I did with my hair. During my 7th grade year, I went through the infamously known, critically disclaimed bright-orange-eye-shadow, thin-eyebrow phase (I realize our current generation of middle schoolers has somehow managed to skip through this. They’re missing out). I thought I’d reached my aesthetic peak, honestly. I was desperately trying to spruce up our school uniform, so whatever the clothes lacked in color, I made up for in bold jackets, shoes, and eyeshadow. In high school, I owned more than 50 bright scarves to pair with any outfit imaginable. I liked to experiment with several accessories—tights, purses, headwear. In college, I ditched the scarves for bold lip colors, bright pea-coats, bow-tie shirts, blazers, and jewelry. My delivery has changed noticeably, but the message has never faltered: I love colors and I love to make bold statements.

I’ve never been afraid to stand out with my clothing, and I find solace in that because it’s the only part of me that I’ve never held back on. I’ll forever dodge anything that requires me to be the center of attention socially, but I’ll put on the loudest red coat without hesitation.

My style—how I choose to present myself and the statements I choose to make—is my deepest expression of self. It allows me to be silent and loud all at once, sharing parts of who I am without ever having to speak. What I don’t feel comfortable showing readily always comes out in the things I’ve chosen to wear, and I enjoy pouring creativity and intentionality into that.

Putting artful effort into this isn’t for anyone else though, but solely for me. I’m an empty canvas I get to style in the morning—sacred, peaceful moments with just me and myself—a form of therapy I’ve cherished consistently. In my late-teenage and young adult stages, this routine has had little to do with craving admiration or feeling pressured to look put together, but more-so just a personal creative outlet.

The more I process this, the more I’ve realized there’s a very deep distinction between style and fashion. Fashion is solely on the clothes we wear and keeping up with ever-changing trends and brands. Style is consistent, providing a fuller picture of the person, reflecting the cherished pieces of their inner world externally. Style, I’ve discovered, has very little to do with fashion. Fashion is about the clothes, but style is about the person.

What statement do you want to make? How do you want to make it? Do you feel confident making it? Cool, that’s your style.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

A few months ago, my boyfriend and I were lounging in a friend’s basement, hiding out from all of the socializing going on upstairs. I adore this about Phil and I. We are endless nook-seekers. We will mutually agree to attend an event, park in the street so we won’t be blocked in, linger in the social action for like, ten minutes, give each other the signal and find a nook. In this case, the nook was our hosts’ basement. It allowed us to still be sort-of connected to the people while existing peacefully in our own space.

“What’s something that sticks out to you about me?” I ask him, reading off one of those couple’s questionnaires on Facebook from like 2012 that someone had just re-shared for fun.

Charlie and her pink angels. My 9th birthday party.

“When you were younger, you made everyone wear the same color to your birthday parties to assert your dominance as a woman,” he responded half jokingly. I laughed. I loved that this was the first thing that came to mind.

When I was 9, 10, 11, and 12, I had color-coordinated birthday parties. I wanted everyone to come dressed in the same color.

I remember calling my friend Lisbeth on the phone to invite her to my 9th birthday party.

“Just so you know, the assigned color is pink,” I told her sassily after delivering all of the party details. “It’s my theme. Everyone has to wear it or they won’t be allowed in.”

I remember getting phone calls the day of the party from girlfriends complaining they didn’t own the color pink.

“Could I wear pants that have pink on it? Or could I wear pink shoes?” they asked, flustered.

“Fine, I guess that could work,” I replied.

For my 10th birthday, I had everyone wear red. For my 11th, it was green. For my 12th, it was blue. I picked my colors according to which one I felt more strongly about that certain year. After 12 years old, I outgrew my color-coded theme thing and just let everyone wear what they wanted.

At some point post-color-themed birthday parties, I lost pieces of my once fiery boldness, leaving them stranded in heavy pockets of insecurity for long stretches of time. Finding my voice again in my young-adulthood and connecting with the parts of myself I once deeply celebrated has been incredibly healing to me.

My definition of success will probably change overtime, as most things do. But after such tumultuous years of mental chaos and instability, I thrive in all moments when I get to experience life in color. Taking care of the people I love, living a simple, quiet life where I heal, embrace life fully, and am comfortable in who I am—it fuels my inner peace and allows me to live wholesomely. These are the things that bring me joy, and I am successful when I have joy.

F R E E D O M

I used to find discomfort in my personality. I felt I was too sensitive, too soft, too serious, too emotional. I over-monitored my social interactions, making sure to deliver fabricated thoughts I’d figured people would find acceptable. It was exhausting.

And yet, even when I wasn’t comfortable being myself, I’ve always felt comfortable wearing what I wanted, never being afraid of being too flashy, too bold, or too colorful. It was my form of freedom from my own mind and my own expectations.

My styling routine has no particular rules or restrictions. Anything goes and I love it. I can wear a white beach shawl as an oversized shirt, I can sport colors or textures that don’t typically go together, and I can be me. And that’s really the most important part.

The picture on the left (or above) was shot two years ago by my dear friend Rena Chung, who I’d only spoken to once before this shoot. I was, and still am, endeared by her light-hearted wits and quirks and how affirming and fun she is.

“Natalia, pose like you love yourself,” she said. I smiled, bewildered, unsure of how to display something I was still learning how to do. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around myself and smiled.

“Oh! Perfect,” she said, then shot this picture.

While she’s immortalized many important and beautiful moments in her photographs, this one was, for me, a wholesome moment of stillness, and I decided I needed to live out a lot more moments like this one—creating healing, peaceful environments, making bold statements, and living my life in full color.

I could always be me and that would always be enough.

Before you go, check out this week’s links! Have a wonderful weekend.

Two of my friends have started insta blogs! Check out his teacher account and her lifestyle account.
Fellow book lovers, add these to your summer reads, asap.
To my Latino friends and family, know your rights and please stay safe.
Toni Morrison taught me how to think.