The Art of Rebuilding Oneself and Identity

Long time no see, my darlings. These past few weeks have been unusually quiet on my end (eerily so), and writing—something that normally comes as naturally to me as breathing—slipped to the very bottom of my priorities. That rarely happens. And when it does, the bitter taste of “stuckage” lingers louder than any urge to let the words pour out. Life, as it tends to do, decided to remodel itself with a series of transitions. Nothing revolutionary, just the kind of shifts that every human eventually stumbles into. But transitions, depending on how you frame them, are not without meaning. They mark growth. They signify the harvest after long labor. They spark a strange new craving: the craving for yet another change.

For me, the changes rearranged something within, and suddenly I couldn’t return to the rhythm I once knew. I couldn’t even name what exactly had shifted. Was I bored of myself? Restless for something unfamiliar? Unsettled by new surroundings? Or maybe my insecurities, long buried, had finally caught up with me.

The irony is that every alteration has been positive. Good, even necessary. Yet, I’ve felt like a spectator to my own becoming, as if my life were a stage play and I’d somehow been cast as both the lead and the audience. When I finally set aside pride and stared at the truth, it was simple: I don’t fully know myself. I couldn’t articulate what threads make up the whole fabric of me. And maybe that’s what this season is asking of me: not control, not certainty, but curiosity. To stand in the mirror, not as a critic or stranger, but as someone meeting herself for the first time.

With this new scholastic year there is usually chaotic syllabi, deadlines, transitions and here I am, stepping into my last year of my bachelor’s degree. But instead of feeling put-together, I’ve been caught in a strange paradox: life is moving forward, yet I feel increasingly unfamiliar with myself. Almost as if I’ve been living on autopilot, pushing aside the work of actually getting to know myself.

At first, I tried outsourcing the answer. TikTok became my compass: I saved endless guides on “finding your personal style,” hoping one would unlock the key to fulfillment. But the truth? Inspiration is plentiful; authenticity isn’t. And no algorithm can hand you authenticity on a silver platter.

That’s when I stumbled across July Rose, who framed the issue differently: instead of waiting for the next trend to tell you who you are, why not study the art you already love? Films, for instance. Characters, settings, and costumes that stir something inside you—that flutter of recognition. Write it down. Explore it. She argued that most people don’t lack style; they lack the research into why certain aesthetics speak to them.

Her words hit me. Why don’t we approach ourselves with the same curiosity we bring to studying art, or even to dissecting fashion history? Fear, perhaps. Humans often avoid what they don’t understand. Maybe we’re afraid that if we dig deeper, we won’t like what we uncover. That fear isn’t limited to fashion, it runs through how we explore identity. It could be sexuality, self-expression, or even the friends we choose to surround ourselves with. Vivienne Westwood’s (mother) “destroy the word conformity” works beautifully when you talk about fear of exploring the unknown self. The idea that one might hide from deeper self-knowledge because of social or internal pressure to conform. “The only reason I’m in fashion is to destroy the word conformity.” 

Another creator, Sebin, provided a practical framework: diagrams. She maps moods and tendencies visually, arguing that everyone has a range of styles, different dispositions for different days. This clicked with me. I realized that on some days, I’m a maximalist dripping in jewelry, on others I crave a simple outfit elevated by one sharp accessory. I love ethereal aesthetics, but I’ll still clip a Hello Kitty trinket in my hair just for joy. Style, then, isn’t about consistency; it’s about fluency in your own visual language.

Authenticity is really confusing and quite frankly excruciatingly time consuming, “waiting for the next trend” vs. really discovering a personal style that gives confidence. It emphasizes that style is more than external; it’s internal satisfaction. Yves Saint Laurent has said:“Finding your own style is not easy, but once found it brings complete happiness. It gives you self-confidence, always.” and Rick Owens has probably said something along the lines of: “I think personal style starts from internal attitudes, internal convictions, and experiencing life honestly.”

Discovering Myself Through Fashion

What I’ve discovered so far is that style is never static; it’s an autobiography stitched together with memory, culture, and curiosity. One of the earliest truths I learned about myself is that I am, unapologetically, a maximalist. That discovery wasn’t new, it was practically inherited. Growing up in an African household, I watched my mother adorn herself with gold jewelry so rich and abundant you could hear her before you saw her. The jingle of bangles, the weight of necklaces, those sounds became part of the rhythm of home. I want to carry that with me, too: to step into the world announcing myself, not with words, but with shimmer, clink, and presence.

Cinema, too, has been my teacher. Helter Skelter remains one of my favorite films, partly because of how maximalist its aesthetic feels. Even when the main character wears something deceptively simple, the outfit never reads as plain because disposition and environment transform simplicity into complexity. That lesson stayed with me: some days my clothes will be pared down, but as long as I remain intricate spiritually and mentally, simplicity can still dazzle. 

Then there’s Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola, not my favorite story, but visually intoxicating. The bodices, lace, powdered blush, and tailored silhouettes embody a romanticism I find irresistible. Structure and softness together create a contradiction that feels like me: rigid yet whimsical, disciplined yet dreamy.

On the opposite spectrum lies Gia, a film that left me shattered for days but heavily inspired. Gia Carangi’s comfort in her own sexuality was radical, especially against the fragility of her life story. Watching her affirmed my own journey of embracing sensuality, after years of internal modesty and hesitation. Style, for me now, is no longer about hiding, it's about breathing freely in my own skin. 

And then there is the quiet thread of Christianity. My relationship with it is complicated, as it often is for anyone who grows up under its roof. At twenty, I’ve begun to detach from some of its teachings, yet I find myself tethered to its symbols. The cross, whether worn as jewelry or stitched into fabric, feels like an echo of my upbringing; sometimes comforting, sometimes haunting. Even the color white, when I wear it, reminds me of ritual, rebirth, and restraint.

Selfishly, through the unwarranted paragraphs that solely expose bits of myself, I have shared all these layers with you so that way you can begin to see your wardrobe as less of a closet and more of a diary. 

Final Thoughts

My final “exposé” is the spiral—a symbol I’ve grown deeply attached to. Unlike a straight line, the spiral represents growth that is never linear. We return to familiar points but at new depths. What am I trying to say? Change will never feel neat or logical, quite frankly it’s impossible for it to be any of that and that’s precisely its beauty. Reinventing ourselves (our looks, our mindsets, our relationships) isn’t a betrayal of who we were, but an evolution. Remember who we are is not set in stone, change is inescapable, so when you feel that shift maybe it’s your soul longing for more than you actually put out in this world. 

So yes, rebuilding oneself is an art. And like any art form, it requires research and the willingness to open one's mind.

XOXO, The Fashion Stock Market

Cover Photo: Pinterest

Editor: Felicity Field