So we (I know I) have been using this phrase for quite some time now. Walk that walk. Walk that walk, automatically, implies walking on your own planet and, on your own planet, you have a certain walk. It’s to the music you’re lip syncing in your head. Or the silence. Thoughts. Feelings.
It’s with the aforementioned that style knocks at the gate. Once you take the time to find or create your own planet, the style comes from within and this is how you turn into a walking planet, essentially, with its own satellites and everything.
This is style. To me.
You get dressed for the day you’re about to have or think about how you want your day to feel like and dress for it. Clothes are agents of mood change, I once read in the British Vogue. Sometimes, you feel like turning into the planet and put everything you want to wear, at once, on you. Other times, you just want to feel naked and a good t-shirt + good jeans (and genes) will do.
So, there’s a certain freedom to wearing your favourite pair of sandals with socks, in cold weather. It’s chilly outside and the higher you are between the clouds (amongst the stars), the closer you are to you. You like to spend time on your own in the city, do your own stuff, also. You need your socks, they’re your homies. Or maybe you don’t need the socks, you’re never cold, you’re some sort of cold creature and that’s ok, too.
You are you.
Then, you put on a pair of trousers that you, obviously, love, a warm dress you always enjoy touching your skin and a jacket + something you’ve been obsessing over. You had a bath before going out and spent a good amount of time on making your hair feel like you hadn’t just spent a good amount of time on making your hair feel like you hadn’t. And on and on. You like the ease, but you also like the pretty. You care.
You have stuff you might need in your backpack. Just in case you, magically and unexpectedly, drive somewhere, after a long day, to hold hands with you know who. You might need your hand cream, you know?
You dropped by your favourite coffee shop, or whatever, to get the coffee that feels so right on your lips. For you.
It’s Mary-Kate Olsen in the picture, btw; it’s not the fame, nor the whatever one, forcefully, and a lot of the times unconsciously, self-inflicts on one. It’s the swag. It’s your own individual planet you like so much that you become it.
Your universe. Our universe.
PS: the alien vibes help, though.