I don’t wear color.

Adulthood is a discovery process.

Every stage of life is I suppose, but I’m finding that the more years lived, the more layers of false identity are shed. I’m discovering myself all the time—what I actually like and dislike and how coming into my own often looks like seizing to apologize for it.

Have you ever bought an article of clothing because you pushed yourself to? A style that was outside your comfort zone or a color you never wear?

I began to feel early on in my twenties that I ought to wear more color and pattern and dresses. Friends complained that my clothes were boring and neutral and repetitive.

So I bought a lot of clothes I thought would make me a more stylish person to look at. These things never saw the light of day. For years I’d pack them away for the season, bring them out six months later, hang them up, and pack them away again.

Year after year.

I spent a lot of money trying to fit a mold I didn’t create or actually agree with.

What I’ve come to find in my ripe stage of late twenties is I like what I like because I like it.

And that’s enough.