I Stopped Caring About My Outfits, and That's Precisely When They Got Good

Curated via Twitter from POPSUGAR Beauty’s twitter account….

But this Fashion Week in New York City presented the possibility to do it differently, because yes, Fashion Week inherently pushes us to dress up and to take risks, but also because while dressing up in San Francisco will get you noticed, even going next to naked at New York Fashion Week isn’t likely to cause much of a reaction.

I remember sitting in an empty room at Lincoln Center a good 20 minutes ahead of the Rebecca Minkoff show in 2011 — if you’ve ever been to a runway show, you know I may as well have brought a sleeping bag and a stack of unread New Yorkers to plow through, because no show actually ever starts on time.

As a woman in San Francisco who loves fashion, I often succumb to sweatpants and leggings, adopting the "easy" uniform of the city lest I stick out like Crocs at Couture Week (or in this case, couture at a Crocs convention).

My childhood self would have jumped at the chance to design an outfit for the occasion, but I’ve spent too many seasons standing over my suitcase half-dressed, in a sweat, clothes thrown around my hotel room to see only the unbridled joy in it.

I found joy in comfortable clothes, in neutral color combinations, in building an outfit around a pair of really good boots.

I found joy in comfortable clothes, in neutral color combinations, in building an outfit around a pair of really good boots.

For the last 10 years of my life, I’ve covered Fashion Week every season and attended New York runway events countless times.

I’ve spent so much of my life cataloguing how an outfit will be received by others that I’ve lost the joy in dressing for myself. I love it.

I’ve spent so much of my life cataloguing how an outfit will be received by others that I’ve lost the joy in dressing for myself.

This past season, I promised myself I wouldn’t get caught up in it and decided to take the KonMari approach to dressing for Fashion Week.

On so many occasions, I’ve left my hotel for one show feeling good about a look, only to catch a glimpse of another outfit in the front row and begin to spiral.

I’ve spent cab rides back to my room metaphorically peeling off the layers of a "failed" outfit, cursing the choice under my breath like I was being graded for it. Disaster.

Yet something inevitably creeps into my psyche as each Fashion Week looms, edging out every bit of confidence and inspiring self-doubt (and even fear). This is the part I hate.

I won’t blame it entirely on my surroundings; I’ll own up to the fact that there are days when I’m lazy and uninspired, and leggings and a sweater or jeans and flats seems like just enough of an effort to get me out the door feeling OK, but no, not great, about my outfit.

Packing for the week is initially exciting, the way choosing an outfit for the first day of sixth grade was. But the panic is not.

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