Skye from My Kingdom for a Hat ("where decorum goes to die"), posing with two worry books. Worry? Not to worry! I've always been prone to fretting. My stress-response is fear.
In slightly related news, I wrote a short essay on depression for Richmond Pulse and/or New America Media's #FeelBetter initiative. That piece is still going through editing, but I also drafted an unfinished alternate version, which focuses on stylish self care. Here it is:
On the bad days, I get dressed in defiance of my mood. Jewelry and lipstick can't entirely dispel a bout of depression, but they demonstrate that I refuse to be limited to sad ensembles. I need to see that when I look in the mirror. Any therapist will agree that how you treat yourself affects your state of mind. When I pretend to be a starlet, devoting time and care to dolling myself up, then I get closer to feeling important.
The worst days are when I can't motivate myself to even look through my closet. I'll open a drawer, feel listlessly unenthused, and shut it again. Working from home means that I can stay in my pajamas all day, but it doesn't mean that I should. Unfortunately, when I'm down in the dumps, I find it hard to motivate myself to do anything that would make me feel better, including putting together an outfit. Luckily I live with my parents. When my mom notices that I'm depressed, she says, "Sonya, put on a pretty dress and we'll go out for lunch." Even if my own initiative is absent, I can still follow orders. Dutifully, I pick out something with a flippy skirt and follow my mom to the car.
Another obstacle to my sartorial success is the reoccurring doubt, "What's the point? I'm not going anywhere and no one is going to see me." I can't get used to the idea of looking good just for the sake of it, or looking good for the sake of pleasing myself. Like many people, I conceive of my appearance as a performance meant for the benefit of others.
// $145 //
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