Recently, I found myself thinking about my first-ever designer bag. I remember it perfectly: a small, beige Coach baguette decorated with the brand's logo, gifted to me at 13 or 14 by my parents. I wore that thing everywhere despite having little need for it, but looking back, what made me love that purse wasn't the fact that it was cute or that it went with every outfit. It was just the bag everyone else in my grade had, and I felt I needed it to fit in.
As a fashion editor, I often write about how to find your own personal style, but the truth is, it took me decades to do the same. Growing up, I was very concerned about blending in with my surroundings so, for a chunk of time, my outfits could best be described as "Staten Island Italian — Teen Edition." Then, I was all about matchy-matchy, quirky graphic tees, and testing out celeb-approved trends — my go-to store during the mid-aughts was dELiA*s because it sold things like extra wide-leg pants and up-to-your-ribcage shorts. In college, I was heavily influenced by whomever I was dating, so my aesthetics ranged from Jersey Shore to early Zooey Deschanel.
Even when I began working in the fashion industry, I struggled to find a sense of style that truly represented me and not what I thought I was supposed to be. I splurged on clothes that I could barely afford and couldn't quit trying to re-create whatever "It" trend I had spotted on the runway.
I'm not too sure when I made the switch, but part of finding my own personal style was by accident. For a while, I suffered from folliculitis, and I'd often wake up to hundreds of tiny pimples all over my neck, chest, and back. Panicked, I would grab a bandana or scarf in order to hide my breakout, and it soon became a styling trick I couldn't quit. Adding that accessory to my outfits gave it some flair and also felt like a move that was unique to me. Friends and family began to associate me with bandanas; people would point them out whenever they saw someone else wearing one or give them to me as gifts.