I like your style

"Oh, never mind the fashion. When one has style of one's own, it is always twenty times better."

-Margaret Oliphant

The elder of my two nephews has discovered style. He doesn’t leave the house without his arm band. A few months ago, he would only wear shorts and pants if they were camouflage print. The best part is that he is far from “cool.” He’s the type of kid you want to pick up and kiss, not the kid you always wanted to be. I love that about him. He’s dorky, but he has style. The kid makes me melt.

When I meet someone, one of the first things I notice is their flair. I convince myself that it is not shallow, but true. My best friend Jessica is a prime example of a telling style. When I describe her to those who don’t know her, I don’t tell them about her character (which is also beautiful). Rather, I tell them about how she had pink hair or I describe her endangered species outfit from 6th grade. I tell them about how she was a vegetarian and how she wanted to marry a Christian boy who wears converse. I describe her style, hoping that they will be able to deduce who Jessica is as a person. Jessica’s sparkly china flats are a part of who she is.

I loathe spike heels and I feel at home in reefs and converse. I’ve never applied eyeliner and I love to throw my hair up. I feel most myself in hippie skirts and bangle bracelets. Style’s illuminating, but it’s also deceiving. My style is laid back, but I am anxious. I pretend to be careless, but I am meticulous. Maybe the problem is that I couldn’t figure out how to apply eyeliner without looking like a football player, so I picked another style. Perhaps my style has nothing to do with who I am. It’s more of a reflection of who I want to be than who I actually am. Style’s the part of us we have control over-- the “us” that we can create.