WELL DRESSED

Style, Control & Quiet Exhaustion

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit it, but I wrote my college essay about The Art of Getting Dressed (no, I wasn’t applying to design school). While my left-brained, right-tracked classmates wrote about volunteering in far-flung countries, mastering the bassoon, or surviving adversity—death, divorce—I wrote about clothes.

I still remember my Honors English teacher, Mrs. Kennedy, kind but unconvinced, saying, “Well… this is certainly a different topic.”

I didn’t yet understand what clothes were doing for me.

As a young girl, I took real pleasure in pulling together the coolest combination. I remember one tangerine ensemble: not-too-clingy cotton leggings; a V-neck sweater threaded with metallic; a bauble necklace; silver ballet flats. I was a label-lover then—ESPRIT stamped across half my wardrobe. I coveted that upside-down triangle on my distressed gray Guess jeans; unearthed on a discount rack at G. Fox, with zips at the ankles!

Fashion, for me, was self-expression and recognition. I won “Best Dressed” in the 8th grade (despite wearing a uniform). At a time in adolescence when I was unsure of my strengths, I was at least good at clothes. In high school, one rich girl would show up at my locker, tug at my hip, and urge me to model the day’s outfit. In those moments, I felt seen—and maybe even that my keen eye leveled the financial playing field.

My styling routine always took place at night, after dinner. Family meals came with a side of emotional unpredictability. After the dishes were cleared, I’d slip up the back staircase to pre-plan my outfit—studying small piles on the shag rug, tiptoeing through textures and brights like lava. Curating. Editing. Deciding. Order on the bedroom floor contrasted the unsettled kitchen.

As an adult, I still hyper-focus on aesthetics, though my personal style has morphed from maximalist to minimalist. I’m always after a capsule wardrobe—neutrals that play nice together. Accessories? I’m allergic. Long live the 90s! But lately, despite my perfectly pared-down, clutter-less closet— I feel overwhelmed.

My career is in flux. My hormones are AWOL. My hyper-independence is at an all-time high. It seems I’m using style as a stabilizer. Addicted to buying but not necessarily committing. Printing return labels has become a part time job. A never-ending hunt for the piece that will make me feel hireable, intact, loveable.

Clothing has been a proxy for intimacy all along, a system of control. This thing that gives me joy and creative license also exhausts me—I don’t know how to let it go. If I do, the other shoe may drop.

For more lifestyle intel, find me on Instagram: @MEGAsubstack

Love chic pieces without the retail markup? Shop my Poshmark closet: https://poshmark.com/closet/megamedia