Ever since I was a child, I’ve held a fascination for dressing up. I still vividly remember a moment at the grocery store when I was just six. A woman caught my eye with her pantyhose, striking red heels, and vivid blue eyeshadow. It felt like she embodied the essence of who I wanted to be, and I couldn’t help but stare.
On our way home, I excitedly pleaded with my mom to buy me those fabulous items. I envisioned ourselves stopping by Sears or flipping through the Montgomery Ward catalog to order them. But my dreams were dashed when she told me I’d have to wait until I turned 16. The frustration bubbled inside me as I sulked in the back of our Caprice Classic, and once home, I retreated to my room, crying and piling on cherry chapstick in a futile attempt to mimic the look I craved.
I knew I didn’t want to wait a decade to express who I truly was. Dressing up was not just a desire; it was part of my identity. I wasn’t influenced by Disney tales; my aspirations were rooted in my own desires to adorn myself in beautiful shoes, jewelry, and dresses, simply to appreciate my reflection.
Fast forward nearly 38 years, and I still feel a profound sense of self when I dress up. Whether I’m headed to a fancy restaurant or just running errands, putting on heels transports me to my happy place. Styling my hair uplifts my spirits, and when I slip into a dress or my favorite jeans, I feel authentic. For me, these choices are like a second skin, not a mask.
I remember wearing my first pair of heels in seventh grade—thankfully, I didn’t have to wait until I was 16, as I borrowed my mother’s red high heels and slipped them into school. Throughout college, while many students opted for casual wear, I embraced wrap skirts, dresses, and polished nails.
People often ask me why I’m dressed up, and I’ve encountered my share of eye rolls. They assume I must be heading to a party or a meeting, or they express confusion as to why I would want to dress up without a specific occasion. My answer is simple: I do it for myself. It’s not about pleasing others; it’s about aligning my external appearance with how I feel inside.
Sure, comfort has its place—I enjoy a cozy pair of leggings and a T-shirt occasionally. But nothing compares to the mental boost I get when I invest time in my appearance. The sound of my heels clicking on the pavement makes me feel alive. With three kids in a small town, some might say I stand out (my oldest son sometimes wishes I’d tone it down), but I refuse to shrink myself to fit someone else’s expectations.
If I want to wear stilettos, I will—regardless of where I’m going. I don’t concern myself with others’ fashion choices and have never questioned why someone might choose sweatpants or a messy hairstyle. Yet, people seem to feel entitled to ask why I choose to dress up, as if it requires justification.
I’ve often been the most stylish person in the room, yet I never feel out of place. Whether I’m pumping gas in thigh-high boots or attending family gatherings, I own my style, and I won’t consult friends about what they’re wearing. After all, I’ll dress how I want, regardless.
I’ll always remember that lady in 1981, nonchalantly buying iceberg lettuce in her patent leather heels. Her confidence left a lasting impression on me—her appearance spoke volumes about how she felt inside.
Let’s celebrate the freedom to wear what we desire, without needing a reason. So if you see me at the grocery store in my red heels, know that I’m simply being myself.
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In summary, I love dressing up for myself. It’s a form of self-expression that brings me joy and fulfillment, regardless of societal expectations. My style is my own, and I embrace it fully!