The Three Fs – Fashion, Family, and Forever

Lucia Koo - Bayside, NY

I suffer from a severe case of “poop hands.”

Said condition directly translates from a Korean phrase commonly used to tease someone who’s incredibly unlucky with her hands—enter Exhibit A.

Monopoly? Please! Jail is my second home—specially reserved for me.

Rock-Paper-Scissors? If only the rules of winning were reversed, and losers become winners, I’d reign.

Art-class? We have a mutual relationship—of dislike. Somehow, my best efforts unwittingly produce a stick-figure who has only one arm, but three legs. But there’s one place where my fingers don’t fail me: the art of textiles—arranging pieces of clothing that, alone, seem mismatched, but combined, harmoniously merge to produce a stunning masterpiece that is my outfit.

I wasn’t always so confident in my fashion, however. Diagnosed at 10, scoliosis forced me to wear shirts three-sizes larger, to hide the bulky brace that encompassed my entire upper torso. As my severe spine-curvature worsened, I hovered on the edge of a spectrum riddled with self-loathing and doubt, afraid to witness my flawed anatomy against the unyielding mirror. Before I knew it, I became a victim of lookism, which refers to the judgment made regarding how well people associate within a certain standard of beauty. My perspective tinted—only to criticize every one of my imperfections and flaws. I convinced myself I was ugly—and it broke me.

But it was when I was at my lowest, spiraling into a funnel of self-hate, when I began experimenting with my gigantic t-shirt, as an escape method to shield my physical imperfections—my humped back, slanted hips, and uneven ribcage.

Trial and error taught me colorful skirts should never be worn over either sweatpants or just as equally bright jeans. But mix and match showed me, first-hand, the connection between creation and possibilities. My oversized shirt became more than just an unflattering top. It was now a lazy outfit for buying last-minute groceries, layered with a loose hoodie, and cozy sweatpants; it was the perfect school attire, accompanied by a skirt and knitted cardigan; and it never failed for a casual date with friends when donned with a denim jacket and jeans. From the one article of clothing that I despised, I found beauty, acceptance, love, and most importantly—a new family.

Throughout the past year, I’ve been sharing my passion by uploading my own outfit posts on my fashion blog—imperfect spine and all. My disadvantages still persist. Every single day, my back aches in pain. I look in the mirror, only to be met with my distorted body. But I’ve gradually adapted, to flourish as an individual today who loves myself and everyone around me. Here, in my blog, there exists no imperfection—the process of discovering each’s own unique fashion in itself is beautiful, with no faults. I—once a monochromatic individual bound by unrealistic ideals of body perfection—am now a million: a writer, a photographer, a terrible sketcher—perhaps an amateur fashion connoisseur, amongst others. With this inspiration, I dream of creating a safe space in my fashion blog, where there exists no judgment—only the freedom to chase ambitions once hesitated upon.

United by our common interest in the ability to express individualistic style through outfits, my online fashion community is one of my most cherished families. Pictures speak a thousand words—and through the visual medium of photography, we communicate through our colors, fabrics, and emotions. As a close-knit group of more than one-thousand members, we bond over our passion for spreading self-love and acceptance everywhere we go. Together, as family, we hold hands as one, to destroy the predetermined standards we base our judgment of attractiveness on. We continue to strive to create a society that prioritizes the inner glow found in our character over our physical appearances.

Although I may not have Midas’ touch, I take pride in my poop hands. Instead of superficial gold, I breathe life into my outfits, whilst introducing a wonderfully nuanced world of identities—a space where we are free to be whoever we want—to the people I meet through my blog. I dedicate hundreds of hours experimenting with my fabrics and researching—with the intent to educate thousands by destroying preconceived notions of what society deems as beautiful.

Yet I receive just as much guidance. Hearing the stories of friends and their journeys to loving themselves in clothes they wear to express, challenges my narrow mind to look into a dimension beyond, buoyantly littered with new, foreign perspectives. In return, I have the honor of constantly learning and improving, as I work to produce the output—in promoting inclusiveness, diversity, and unification through my fashion family. Family is not just blood. It’s realizing that every minuscule detail speaks volumes in portraying the beauty of our realism—the timeless beauty conjured from both our similarities and differences alike. And I know with certainty, that our long-established relationships will last—forever.