Why I Have Disdain For Fashion, Despite Having Been A Model.

If we are being honest (and I hope we are), I have always had a really complicated relationship with fashion. In my late teens, early twenties, the industry paid for many of my vodkas, my taxis and sometimes in a good month, my rent (when my extra eyebrows and chest were on trend).

I mean, I never really knew what I was doing.

I didn’t know what fashion was ‘good’, or what was ‘bad’. I would say things like “Wow, oh my goodness, I LOVE IT”. Then get super excited about lunch.

When it came to the suave sort of ‘je ne sais quoi’ modelly, all fashiony knowy vibe, I really looked to the other girls in the room (the ‘real’ girls) to tell me if I was supposed to approve of this scratchy, silky or strange attire.

Funnily enough. As I got older, getting dressed everyday in my normal Australian life, started to follow a similar pattern.

I would always try to take note of the goings on. What was in, what was out. I would try to push back my enthusiasm for mad colours, crazy recycled leathers, denim, head pieces and boots. I’d instead take a peek on the ‘gram, or around the house party, to see what I was supposed to like now.

Internally, it felt like this glaringly obvious secret, that highlighted the difference between ‘them’ and me. Them, the ‘real Australian girls’. And me, the sneaky migrant hidden in plain white sight. Who when left to her devices, would choose jeans with a homemade…