Girl, What Took You So Long?

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I remember being in secondary school when my English teacher announced that her greatest weakness was that she is a perfectionist. Honestly, I proper laughed out loud, while seeking solidification from my surrounding classmates. Not only because I was a bold, cheeky sixteen-year-old with overly backcombed hair, but basically because I didn’t really understand what a perfectionist was, or what it really meant. 

I’ve had this blog up since October. Overly editing landscape aesthetic, studying convoluted background details of web design, deciding if the lettering space should be a 0.8 or 0.6, stressing if my name should be solidified in black or a dark grey hue, and of course, avoiding capturing visual content of candid hair flicks and lipstick-stained coffee cups. It is now March, over four months later, and I am only welcoming you to my incoherent rambling as of today. 

Since October, I’ve purposely hit snooze, with one eye reluctantly half-open, while nestled in one too many blankets before scrolling infinitely through Instagram until midday. I’ve assured myself that the hundreds of dollars tallied up in my Zara cart was an important aspect of time management, while really knowing I had no intention of pulling out my sad, overused debit card. Drinking too many cosmopolitans was, and still is, very much a thing. I’ve binge-watched Friends mindlessly for roughly the tenth time, and continued to cry over the Ross and Rachel break-up scene, which hasn’t become any less devastating. And I’ve repeatedly and stupidly decided to visit Trader Joe’s on Sunday’s, which has increasingly turned into a two hour ordeal, fighting with other similar irritated grocery shoppers that equally made the same Sunday mistake. 

My brain has been fuelled and inspired with ideas for blog posts, but I could never seem to grab the perfect moment. That perfect moment where I would post to Instagram saying hey guys, please read what I have to say, or something along those lines. I had even written and posted three blog posts in the month of February, but my anxious-self said nothing. Only over the past month really, I have come to realize that there will never be that perfect moment. There’s always some excuse, or another Friends episode to watch. I’ve never before categorized myself as an individual that fears risk, whether it was booking my flight to move to New York two weeks before I left, or beginning mosh pits at Irish music festivals with crowds far bigger than myself, while being unconsciously a few vodkas deep. I’ve always been a better an oops than a what if kinda gal. 

Perfectionism is something I’ve slowly developed, and perfected, in the last few years. I’ve learnt that being a perfectionist freezes you and ceases your confidence to do certain things. Struggling with how I am perceived, overanalyzing this post, spending hours upon hours on assignments obsessing over commas and paragraph indents, being a little too emotional about the extra slice of toast I had that was camouflaged in peanut butter, or feeling guilty for not running that extra mile. Sometimes we can be a little too hard on ourselves where ideal standards are too high to be met, and where perfect becomes an obsession. Everything can be done better, and we forget about the journey, the progression and the continuous growth that comes with experience.

After doubting myself one too many times, I’ve clarified that there isn’t a right or wrong way to do this whole blogging thing. Once you are yourself and you are doing what you love, it really doesn't matter. Writing is what I love to do, and I should do it. As you grow older, you think you care less about what people think about you, but the harsh reality is that most of us don’t. How many of you harass refresh when you post a picture on Instagram? Refreshing, and obsessing, until you are content that you have secured enough likes on your candid self holding a glass of wine. It is difficult trying not to compare yourself with others, especially with all those killer girl-bosses with bouncy hair that seemingly have their life together, or the sun-kissed Cali girl basking herself in Bora Bora sun. Learning to understand Instagram as a highlights platform is where you learn not to put yourself down in the process of life. Sometimes the blogging world can seem pretty unattainable, and you find yourself calculating how many meals you can sacrifice for a quilted leather handbag. Those Gucci Princetown loafers, Manolo Blahnik pumps, and Chanel Boy bags flooding Instagram feeds can then slowly become more aspirational than inspirational, and gradually becomes simplified as something you cannot have, and so you want it more. 

So, after analyzing that my once upon a time aspiration of a perfect blog going live really isn’t ready, that I don’t have enough perfectly written posts ready to publish, or knowing that I’ll probably change my mind, once again, about the importance of letter spacing, and that I’ll most likely eventually hire a web designer to do all that annoying gritty, tech-like stuff, I have decided on the whatever approach. Better an oops, than a what if, right? Going with the flow is a pretty scary thing for a defined perfectionist. But driving myself crazy is even scarier. So, I am going to let the process breathe, and for myself to grow with it. Despite my overly enthusiastic perfectionist self shrieking that this isn't perfect, that this isn’t written creatively enough and that you need to start again. Attempting to be perfect at everything is becoming a bit too tedious, and I’m over it. Well, I am going to try be over it.

In such a saturated market, I want to make my blog posts a little bit more relatable. Like chatty girl-talk with a wordy twist. Diving more into the creative journalistic side of fashion, rather than how much a pair of jeans changed my life. I found myself so bored reading blog posts about how a particular color blue complimented a denim skirt so well. I can see how well it is styled, but I want to hear about how you fought over that skirt in the January sales. Tell me that you couldn’t take your black, beetle-eyed Chanel shades off at brunch ‘cause #hangover, and there, you have my attention. Realism, no bullshit and eating too many chocolate buttons behind the Instagram aesthetic. So, with all that being said, but mostly rambled and a bit too dragged out, welcome to my newly published blog!

I really hope you all enjoy!

JACKET - Asos (United States) & Asos (Ireland) 

Photography by F. Suarez Photography