I remember it like it was yesterday: standing in the Pacsun fitting room, shoving the tiny Brandy Melville crop top over my body. The buttons gaped as they sat against my chest, and the bottom hem lay well above my belly button. The top didn’t fit. Nothing in that coveted section fit me properly. To be fair, they were made for only one type of girl: skinny and tall. I had the height, but to my dismay, I was never skinny enough for their standards.
The girls who wore Brandy Melville always had boys interested in them. Correction: the girls who fit into Brandy Melville had boys interested in them. I wasn’t one of them. Looking back now, it’s laughable that I ever saw myself as overweight or unattractive. Yet, the lack of male attention I received at the time rewired my then fifteen-year-old brain, and from that point forward, I was too big. I needed to dress like the other girls to get guys to like me. I needed to show skin to get guys to like me. I needed to blend in with everyone else to get guys to like me.
I’m now two months into being twenty-one, and I can confidently say the last thing on my mind when choosing an outfit is a man. This mindset change did not happen overnight, but I can assure you it has singlehandedly led to the evolution of both my life and my style. As young women, an unfortunate amount of our time and thoughts are consumed by the unattainable approval of men, leading to their massive impact on the way we choose to present ourselves (specifically through the clothing we choose to wear).
Getting ready for high school house parties was always deeply dreaded, as I knew I’d have to wear something that made me uncomfortable in hopes of getting a guy to notice me. The truth is, I rarely ever wanted their attention; I just assumed it was what I should be doing as a seventeen-year-old girl. These outfits usually consisted of a black, tight crop top, jeans (not skinny, but tight enough to hug all the right parts of your body), and a pair of sneakers, ideally Nike dunks. Every. Single. Time. It got to the point where I was no longer choosing an outfit; I was following a formula–one that I didn’t feel comfortable conforming to.
It wasn’t until I left high school that I realized not everyone was stuck in this narrowed mindset. It was suddenly ok to dress differently. I felt like I could finally embrace masculine silhouettes without having guys question my sexuality (yes, this did happen). The only person I’m thinking about when getting dressed is myself. Is this how I want to present myself? Does this outfit inspire me?
I’m obviously no longer in high school and, therefore, no longer surrounded by that damaging mindset, yet I can’t help but notice that this systematic thought process has only gotten worse and is now affecting an even younger demographic. This realization came to me after seeing an overwhelming amount of young girls walking into Aritzia during almost every single shift of mine while I was working there for a year. Overhearing their conversations about boys deeply saddened me, knowing they are rushing one of the most incredible parts of their childhood to act older and at a level of “maturity” I never even thought to seek at their age.
I wish I could say I didn’t always fantasize about growing up. That would be a lie. I wished my entire childhood to be the exact age I am now, and although this period of my life is without a doubt the best I have ever felt about myself and my environment, I would never take away the difficult years that came in between. The innocence of a girl’s pre-teen years is a vital ingredient to a successful coming-of-age experience, and to see an entire generation being stripped of that is heartbreaking.
Although I’m not perfect, I know now that a past version of myself would be incredibly proud of how far I’ve come and that gratification is far more valuable to me than the approval of a man or any other human being.
opinionated. 
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