Why I never post on Instagram anymore

A tale about identity & personal style

Take a look at Instagram. Don’t we all have that special penchant for something that stands at the very core of our content, making it incredibly valuable for those who share the same interests as us? In my case, that would be fashion. The thing that made me modestly relevant and slightly cherished by my tiny audience of less than 30k dedicated followers who refuse to let go of my inconsistent hand. Posting my outfits or style tips, my designer picks and fast fashion hits has always been an effortless thing for me. Until it wasn’t. And as for all things, when you love something, you don’t need to force it - It comes naturally. The delivery is so spontaneous and authentic, that it feels like you were born to do it. 

But that just hasn’t been the case for me in in the past year and a half. I feel like I’m drowning in a state of fashion lethargy that prevents me from creating what I once loved so much. First I blamed it on the outburst of the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown, these abnormal times we lived in, where we had nowhere to go (literally) for such a long time, that pajamas became the norm, ending denim’s century long relevancy in the blink of an eye. Or in the blink of a third lockdown in a row. 

The rise of loungewear, a chic way to describe your nicest pair of pajamas, erased the thick line that once separated inside clothes from outside clothes. Now more than ever, it’s totally okay and even cool if you show up to your favorite restaurant in a neutral, fluffy Skims set. Gone are the days when you had to meticulously plan your effortless looks, that were nothing but effortless in real life. Now, an effortless look is indeed an EFFORT FREE look. No need to think too much about it, most brands sell “comfie sets” or co-ords that require no creativity, fashion sense nor inspiration. If you go on Asos, Zara or any other online store, you’ll certainly find a category that reads total look/co-ords. There, a universe of uniform-like possibilities ready to be thrown on awaits, so that you don’t have to bother with the construction of the million follower #OOTD picture on Instagram. Let’s say you have less than a decent taste, well, even in that case you’d have to have the worst taste ever known to human kind to fail your store bought full look. 

This collective laziness wore off the need I once had to put nice outfits together. Even when I try to, I fail. I never felt as uninspired, mentally drained, prosaic and out of love with fashion. I like to see it in others, I have a thousand saved outfits from my style muses, but still. Nothing sparks that outfit slaying flame I once had in me. That should be reason number one. 

Reason number two, is a more complex one. Perhaps a subject that should’ve been explored with the help of my therapist, but that was brought up by a brilliant friend of mine,  who gave me an insight on a topic that was absolutely unknown to me until last sunday. I am 28, turning 29 in September and she is thirty. As we were laying on the beach, talking about our goals for this next stage of life and many other things, she told me that part of becoming who she wants to be rests on her appearance, more specifically her way of dressing. With a degree in law and soon to become a Doctor of Law, she has a relatively successful career at just thirty years old. But she admited that when she looked in the mirror, she couldn’t see the boss ass bitch she is now because standing right in front of her, was nothing but the purposeless and confused teenager she once was. But Mariana is no failed and purposeless individual. She is the proud owner of a home, because, what else screams success louder than owning property in your early thirties. She has a promising career in law and she is one of the brightest and kindest woman I know. The thing is, when you look at her, you can’t guess any of that. She, herself, has a distorted vision of who she truly is: her responsibilities and personal success don’t match her thrifted ripped jeans, beach blonde waves and 10 year old top that she got from her mom’s closet. With this identity issue in mind, the help of a therapist and a stylist friend, she recently started transitioning into the Mariana that best portrays the woman she is today. First things first she darkened her hair. Now, she’s slowly venturing out of her comfort zone and trying a new style. She is no fashion enthusiast, so this transition is more for personal reasons than simple vanity, but it is helping her finding a whole new confidence and healthy relationship with what she is and what she sees in the mirror. 

Mariana’s journey helped me understand a few things about myself. The first and more important one being that age is playing an important part in this so called fashion lethargy that I’m experiencing. My perception of me has evolved, but my style didn’t and that is probably why I am adrift in this identity limbo. I have to dress for the woman I am working to become, both professionally and personally. I need a red thread between my perception of self and my reflexion. I believe I’ve been in that process without even noticing. Buying a lot, buying everything I see on my feed hating half of it once I try it on. Or not buying anything at all and just sticking to my last-last season clothes, fearing the unknown and holding on to the comfort of the old. I am stuck halfway, lost between who I want to be and who I am now. I need to evolve and yet, remain grounded to my essence. Will I lose my identity along the way or seamlessly unfold the new improved me that has always lived within myself? I have no clue of when this transition will be completed, but all I know is that style is indeed personal. It’s intrinsic. It’s a state of mind, a reflexion of the self. Never as superficial and shallow as people paint it to be.