That’s Fashion, Sweetie: I am a fraud

I was trying on my fourth outfit in frustration as my roommate — bless her soul — told me, “You look good. You looked good in all of them.” 

Dissatisfied, I groaned, complaining it wasn’t right — the way the shirt fell was off, I felt bloated and puffy and, quite frankly, unattractive. 

“That’s not very ‘That’s Fashion, Sweetie,’” my friend joked on FaceTime. 

I laughed, “I know. I’m canceled. I’m basically a fraud.”

Unfortunately, I believe that, to some extent, is true. 

Not necessarily in the literal definition in which I intended to deceive you, but rather I have been untrue to myself and therefore feel hypocritical. In what way, though? In perfect timing for summer: my body and body image. 

I’ve always struggled with summertime as a girl. The marketing for bikini bodies seems to be ramped up to 6 million, and not fitting into a dress when thrifting genuinely feels like the end of the world as my pale skin seems to boil and bubble over a tight neckline. 

This obsession with beauty and insecurity is extremely common. It’s hard to not compare and put yourself down in the age of social media and influence; whether you’re like me and it’s about physical appearance or FOMO and watching other people live more “exciting” lives, it seems that nobody can be content with themselves and their lives anymore. 

Even on TikTok, I saw this girl’s video that read, “Avoiding eye contact because if he looks at you for too long he might see you the way you see yourself.” 

It makes me think of a depressing revelation I had one day in an art museum thinking about the time my classmate told my sister she looked like Victoria’s Secret Angel Miranda Kerr and that I looked like the Mona Lisa. While not necessarily a bad thing, it’s not what I wanted to hear as a middle schooler in my awkward phase. I remembered thinking I was beautiful like a common Renaissance painting: the longer you look, the slightly more warped and unappealing it became. 

Ironically, despite my fears of turning 20, I thought that with the stripping of the title “teen” would come a magical overnight evolution into a more mature version of myself. All of my insecurities would go away, my acne would clear up and, suddenly, all of my clothes would fit better. 

So, even in my preaching and praise of body positivity and trying new styles, I am too scared to venture out in fear of how I would look physically — especially on days when I don’t feel like being perceived.

On a side tangent, I see clothing as a superhero in that way. On days when I feel like being noticed, I can do so with my clothes. Rather, the clothing and outfits that I choose and how they make me feel allows me to exist — or not — on my own terms. 

Still, though, maybe this comes from being more of an ugly duckling in high school and having an insanely beautiful sister and mother. But, of course, I can’t discount the fact that I am also a girl that is obsessed and infatuated with an industry that has a deeply toxic root yet to be weeded out. 

While the industry has been changing immensely, especially with more plus-sized representation in mannequins and on high fashion runways, it’s still, for a lack of better words, slim pickings. The most famous plus-sized models — Jill Kortleve, Alva Claire, Precious Lee and Ashley Graham, who strut the catwalk for brands like Versace and Fendi — represent a small percentage of the total number of models. 

Even when Paloma Elsesser starred on i-D-Vice’s cover wearing Miu Miu’s viral ultra crop skirt and sweater set, they had to make her a custom set because Miu Miu still only makes the standard sample sizes available for runway and retail. 

Regardless, I want to point out that this extreme negativity is not an everyday thing. Some days, I wake up and feel like the most radiant woman on Earth: Nothing can tear me down and I take endless selfies to remember and celebrate it. And I understand that I’ll also probably receive some pushback: I do wear sizes S and M, my shoe size is commonly stocked and I am not “unattractive” according to a general beauty standard (or so I’m told). 

But body image is internal and deeply personal — committing to writing this article was hard, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. So, I’m not looking for pity or forgiveness, but rather I am calling on myself and all of my friends who put ourselves down to stop. 

Our words are incredibly impactful to our own psyche, and I truly believe that what we say gets spoken into existence: i.e., the Law of Attraction. So, my summer goal is not to get a magazine body — every body is a bikini body, and I’m exhausted of hearing otherwise — or to glow up for the fall, but to really change this habit and truly love myself from that deep, angry, hollow, heavy pit of negativity in my chest. 

It’s not worth it to feel bad about my body that provides and does so much for me, and it’s also not something I want to be focusing on during finals week. The clock is at a full-on sprint, and my ability to only run two miles at a time means I need to stay on target to keep enjoying the sun with my friends before coffees and thrifting turn into FaceTimes and Instagram comments. 

Until then, I’m signing off for the semester. Keep your head up and celebrate yourself, fellow reader, and I’ll see you in the fall — possibly as a changed woman. 

Hadyn Phillips is a sophomore writing about fashion in the 21st century, specifically spotlighting new trends and popular controversy. Her column, “That’s Fashion, Sweetie,” runs every Tuesday.