Has anyone ever tried to convince you that fashion was frivolous?

That self-expression through clothes or makeup or accessories was a waste of time? That your selfies were a desperate grasp for validation? That feeling beautiful or sexy or just damn good in your own skin wasn’t a worthy pursuit?

Fuck ‘em.

Your ways of living into the wholeness of yourself — clothes and makeup and shoes and perfume and whatever the fuck else makes your outside feel like it matches your insides — are a fierce and authentic way of embodying your inherent charisma.

Of calling in the people who get you, of giving fewer fucks and showcasing your enviable moxie, of taking up space in this world.

And you, my dear human, deserve to take up so much space in this world.

So go ahead. Rock the fuck out with your bad self. And look fine doing it. I’m not talking fine by some unrealistic and dangerous industry or culturally defined beauty narrative. I’m talking fine like you owning your life and your skin and the totality of you.

I’m talking fine like wearing the clothes that bring a swagger to your step when you walk into the room so I can’t help but stare. I’m talking fine like taking yourself a whole lot less seriously. I’m talking fine like painting your lips red and showing a hell of a lot of skin or covering everything and leaving me biting my lip at the mystery of it all.

I’m talking fine like you, entire. Nothing shrinking into the shadows. Owning the room and the space and my eyes. And knowing it.

Some days, this is the most worthy pursuit of all.