OOTD
“Darling, I’m a daydream, dressed like a nightmare.”
- Blank Space (Liz Returns to the Suburbs Edition)
I wore this look on December 21, 2021.
Outfit details:
Jacket: vintage The Limited, from Salvation Army in Clive, Iowa
Sunglasses: The Bearded Beagle (my favorite LA vintage store)
Sweater: H&M
Pants: random thrifted vintage pants, from Salvation Army in Clive, Iowa
Shoes: Red Back Boots
When my plans for this afternoon abruptly fell through, I found myself in Manhattan in a cute outfit with nothing to do. I quickly pivoted: I’d wander the enticing Moma Design Store, but beforehand I’d take a few photos to document my outfit since no one else was going to see it anyhow.
Propping my phone against a light pole, I set up the self-timer and began. Whenever anyone walked by, I’d move out of the way, but suddenly one of those strangers approached me. Wearing a light mauve hoodie and a black peacoat, he offered to take a photo for me. I hesitated for ten seconds, weighing the likelihood of anything creepy happening, but he didn’t give off that vibe so I said yes.
After a minute of my usual “I’ll walk back and forth pretending to be candid” thing, he paused me and posed me, mentioning he was a photographer. “Me, too!” I chimed in—and immediately clarified that it wasn’t usually just of myself. “That’s the problem isn’t it?” he laughed, “we never have any good photos of us!”
He handed me back my phone and I paused again for ten seconds, debating if I should ask for his handle, if for no other reason than to credit him. And in the length of that pause, he walked away. There was a sweetness in that, in knowing that he didn’t want anything in return. But I should’ve asked his name.
I’ve been really hard on my body lately, though I know she’s been doing her best and I’m doing my best to offer her grace for however she carries me right now. But photos have felt less fun lately. However, when I began scrolling through the photos the stranger took of me, I couldn’t believe it. So this is how someone saw me, all glowing and golden. She looks alive and beautiful and so many good things. They’re some of my favorite photos of myself, maybe ever. And if my plans hadn’t fallen through, none of this would’ve happened.
So all I’d ask is that you’d share this story in hopes that I could find this person and at least thank him for helping me see myself. We met on W 57th, close to 10th on the west side of Manhattan. And if that’s you, if you’re reading this: thank you.
-written on 1.27.22
Shirt: $8, vintage from Salvation Army in Manhattan
Pants: $6, vintage from Salvation Army in Des Moines
Initial necklace: $45, Leona Ruby
Ring: $163, Chad Barela
Boots: $8, vintage from Salvation Army
Nothing went the way I planned today.
I mean I’d made a plan. Granted, it was only yesterday when I decided that I’d thrift a dress, buy the Rare Beauty lip soufflé in “Fearless,” dance, and take photos outside in the rain—because, yes, in a beautiful twist of fate, it was supposed to rain today.
Then everyone I invited couldn’t come. My leg pain was flaring up (anyone else have meralgia paresthetica?). I was tired from sitting at a desk all day. I was lonely. In this pandemic year, in this city where I have literally 5 friends, it was yet another night alone. I almost didn’t show up for my own Fearless (Taylor’s Version) release party.
But ever since college, I have learned to do the things I want to do, even if nobody else wants to do them. It began with exploring new neighborhoods and coffee shops when everyone I knew would rather stay on campus. It turned into going to hardcore shows when no one else enjoyed the head banging and the circle pit vibes. Then I began shooting shows out of state, alone. I grew to enjoy my own company—and I still do—but the pandemic has brought out my gaping additional need for community. However, that wasn’t an option tonight, so I reminded myself of the ways I’d found joy alone and how I could do it again.
So I put on the dress. I put on the lipstick (and gold eyeshadow, because what would 2008 Taylor do?). I packed up my camera and my tripod. And I drove to an empty parking lot and then to an empty street corner and I walked and I twirled and I took photos as cars drove by and their drivers stared at me.
When I paused to look through the images, I could see the loneliness on my face. I didn’t want that expression. I wanted to have this headfirst, lovestruck, fearless look on my face, but I’m not an actor and my face doesn’t lie. I wear my emotions vividly and while that’s not a weakness, in that moment I wished I could fake it a little better.
But as I walked and as I danced, I started to feel a little better. You can see it in my face again. (With the exception of the first image, which I put at the top because I like it, the rest of the images shared chronologically, so you can see this progression of emotion, too.)
One foot in front of the other. Ignoring the cars. Ignoring the rain. Looking only at the sky and the light on the pavement. Feeling the water on my face and the denim over my arms. Moving to an invisible song. It’s how we dance, but also how we get through hard days. Maybe that’s why I subconsciously love dancing and consciously dance on hard days, just to get through.
I realized on my drive home that maybe tonight, in all its loneliness and longing, was more perfect for Fearless (Taylor’s Version) than if it had been full and idyllic. “The Best Day” talks about Taylor’s mom being her only friend. “You Belong with Me” is about unrequited young love. In “Superstar” she pines over an unattainable “superstar.” “Forever and Always” is the perfectly angry anthem about the boy who said forever, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t follow through. “Love Story” is a hopeful manifestation of a fairy tale love that she hadn’t found yet. In “Breathe” Taylor finds her own lungs after holding someone else’s breath for so long that it felt like her own. Vault track “Mr. Perfectly Fine” is an angsty bop about the boy who seems skate unfazed through the breakup, while your heart is left with bloody knees. “You’re Not Sorry” is about learning that people will be who they are (as my therapist has reminded me when I’m disappointed). “Change” is a reminder that life will not always be this way.
And “Fearless,” the title track and a bright anomaly of the record, is a beautiful homage to a headfirst, reckless love in the present tense. But Fearless (Taylor’s Version)—the album—wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for all the loneliness and longing of the other 26 songs. There are only a handful of “happy” songs on the record, but the way Taylor magnifies each emotion with equal importance somehow gave me the space and permission to do the same.
What Taylor Swift has created with her music, with her words, with her genuine joy for her fans and candid embracing of her emotions is a space of belonging for those in the in-between. I have a theory that there are two ways to create community and create art, two ways to use social media: you can either make people wish they were you or you can make people feel like they are part of something. Somehow Taylor has created a space for being, for feeling, for belonging. Despite their specificity, you can find your own story mirrored in her lyrics and your own emotion echoed in her melodies. So I could show up, lonely and tired, in my best dress, and still dance to her songs and feel seen by her words.
While I listened to most of the album last night, it was nearing 2am and between the late hour and the glass of wine I’d finished, I knew I couldn’t give the vault tracks the attention they deserved. So I saved them for this morning. But then I was at work. And you only get a first listen once and I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted the perfect moment.
And if I think back on it, that’s what I’ve always been chasing: perfect moments. I’ve jumped in the car and driven hours on an hour’s notice to photograph surprise events. I’ve danced in more parking lots than with people. I’ve bought clothes with stories. I’ve taken jobs that have left me basically broke because they’ve given me margin for adventure. I’ve thrown myself theme parties and thrown myself into love and thrown myself into the great perhaps of missed connections and I’m constantly throwing myself off cliffs of what-if’s and into wonderings and really all along what I’m looking for is a life that would make a good song or a good story at the end of the day. At the end of the day, I’m terrified of monotony. I just want to live something beautiful.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop chasing all of it: sunrises, first kisses, songs that feel like dancing, new cities, the feeling of being alone and full in a crowded room. But what I’m learning is it doesn’t have to be “perfect” to be meaningful, to be song-worthy, to be a good story. In fact, some of the most beautiful, emotional, meaningful songs have come out of pain. (Can you say “All Too Well?”) It’s easy to dismiss loneliness and heartbreak as lesser because they don’t feel “good” or “fun,” and while I won’t contrive pain just to feel it, I’m learning that feelings are just feelings; they’re information about the world and how I’m processing it. They’ll pass, both the savory ones and the hard ones. But maybe if I lean in, if I listen, if I dance, I might create art out of them before they fade.
And, yes, I did pick my favourite 13 images to include because, again—what would Taylor do?
Everyone was talking about Harry Style’s Grammy look—a Gucci leather suit—and I just so happened to have a leather suit in my own closet. So obviously this had to happen today.
