I’ve tried to stay away from watching online fashion content for as long as I could. I like to think that it keeps me grounded, and that because of my diligence, I’d never end up making an impulse purchase I’d regret. However, my streak broke this June.

Supreme jackets. Nike Dunks. Stüssy tees. Kid Super sneakers. Bikini tops. Vetemants hoodies. Yankee Hats. Camo prints. Baggy pants. Gold Hoops. Endless layers. Through the art of dance, I met fashion.

“Vain trifles as they may seem clothes have more important offices than merely to keep us warm, they change our view of the world and the world’s view of us” – Virginia Woolf, Orlando .

On the brink of turning twenty, I’ve found myself reminiscing about my pre-teen and early teen years.

Garb Writing Team’s weekly blog!!! This stop… Fashion Houses Then & Now!!!

No disrespect to anyone who is playing sports in college, but thank god that s*** is over. A childhood of club sports, from soccer to lacrosse, shaped the person I am today - a college student with spunk and style and, sure, maybe a persisting love for male athletes.

Today, if you ask a girl where she got her pants, there's about a 50% chance she’ll tell you that she thrifted them. This seems an absolute cultural 180, as thrift shopping has historically been stigmatized as a sign of economic hardship–even seen as unhygienic or dirty–but is now probably the most on-trend way to add to your closet. 

I walked by a chalk drawing on Telegraph Avenue this morning.

Vintage clothing. How do you see it? Understand it? Is it about art? Creativity? Is it about sustainability? What if the answer is all of the above? Tristan Thompson says, “Yes, it has to be all of the above.” 

Imagine you’re at a museum with one of your friends, and you are just blankly staring at a canvas that has paint splattered on it. Your friend nudges you and says, “Wow, this guy’s a genius,” but you can’t help but think that this can’t possibly be art. How can someone think that something so mediocre is “art?”

I always used to say if you see me without my necklace, that’s not me. Either I’d been Avril Lavigne-d, and you’re talking to a bare-necked, Roman poser clone, or… no. There’s no other reason you’d catch me without it.

Clothes sprawl across the room, hanging off my closet doors and the couch. My rings and necklaces, scattered everywhere, glimmer. I roll out of bed, clump a couple of rings into my palm, and grab a knitted shirt off the couch. Holding it up to the sunlight and letting the rays shine through, I smile. Woven in the blue cami’s weaves are stories of nights and people nobody will know about as I strut around campus for the rest of the day.