BY: MADELINE FERBER
Fashion is not simply what we drape our bodies in.
To me, fashion is a broad term that encompasses all the tiny objects that decorate our bodies. Like a charm bracelet of notable moments, feelings, and inhibitions, fashion reflects the passing of age and all that signifies it. Staring in the mirror used to be easy. Looking at my reflection used to mean seeing bruised knees from gymnastics, or from dance class. Their purple palette was a medal for all the tricks I was brave enough to try. The ruby-red stains I saw used to be scrapes across my knees after attempting to ride a bike for the very first time. The bloodshed was more than a consolation for the freedom I felt. My reflection showed me, sun-kissed cheeks and grass stains on my elbows from playing outside with neighborhood friends for hours-on-end. The reflection showed all my teeth arranged in a full grin that spread across from ear-to-ear in genuine elation. But now, I see something diĀerent. My reflection now reveals that the red on my cheeks has turned into something not done by the sun, but from blush that I have painted. Suddenly, attractiveness is no longer dependent upon who can run the fastest at recess, but on the cosmetics lining a bathroom countertop. When was it that the red on my knees no longer stemmed from pavement scraps, but from anxious scratching away at my skin? Or that the bruises that remain on my knees are now kept company by ones on my neck and my hips... And why is it that the cheesy grin has turned into downward angles from monsters disguised as friends and lovers? Why is it that youthful ignorance slipped away from me, not only, in the form of mental bliss and torment but in the physical form as well. As if to remind me that I have become the version of myself I had promised never to be. Bruises, blood, and red cheeks have aged me as they have aged with me.
Measure Magazine
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4/15/22 10:37 AM
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