I’ve always been addicted to shopping. But it wasn’t until I got older that I discovered the secret life of fashion — the part that isn’t about trends or price tags, but about identity. Once I was bitten by that bug, expressing myself through my wardrobe became less of a hobby and more of a sacred ritual. Some call it an addiction. I call it self‑discovery.
Growing up, fashion felt like a uniform. Everyone my age dressed the same, clinging to one safe, acceptable style. Everyone except me.
Every year we’d travel to visit my grandmother (on my dad’s side), and as I got older, I began to realise just how truly stylish she was. She wore black turtlenecks, faux‑fur gilets, boot‑cut jeans with chunky cowboy belts, heeled boots, and — my favourite — rings, more rings than I could count. She was a fierce old woman with rings that, although beautiful, could just as easily have been knuckle dusters. I’d watch her sitting by the back door, cigarette in hand, and think, I’ve never seen smoking look like a fashion accessory until I saw it poking out from her rings, perched between her index and middle finger. Very French. Very chic.
Since then, she has sadly passed away, but her influence hasn’t. I now own a small collection of faux‑fur coats and gilets — eight pieces and counting, and always wear far too many rings. Most of my wardrobe comes from charity shops, a beautiful patchwork of vintage treasures and brand-new‑with‑tags finds. I wear everything with joy, choosing only what feels like me. And if I help a charity or two along the way, even better. A win-win situation! The only casualty is my bank balance after a particularly enthusiastic wardrobe refresh.
The inspiration for this article came from a recent visit to my mum at work — a quick hello, nothing more. Later, she told me one of her colleagues said I looked “so glamorous”. For context: I was wearing a black miniskirt, a blue sequin top, knee‑high heeled boots, and an ankle‑length leopard‑print faux‑fur coat. Yes, it was only to get my nails done. But since when did errands require dullness?
Her colleague said she wished she could wear faux‑fur coats too. And I wondered: why do so many people admire clothes they’d never dare to buy? Why don’t they wear what they love? I’ve never looked at a coat or a pair of shoes and thought, I wish I could pull that off. If I love it, I wear it — unless my bank account says otherwise.
If there's one thing I’ve learnt in this lifetime, it’s that wishing is for shooting stars and pennies you toss into fountains, not for clothes.
So why are so many people afraid to express themselves through what they wear?
Iris Apfel once said,
“There is no how-to road map to style. It's about self-expression and, above all, attitude”
She lived 102 years in full technicolour, proving that fashion isn’t about fitting in — it’s about standing out. Imagine how much more beautiful the world would be if we all dressed with that kind of fearless joy.
Personally, I think you should wear at least one thing every day that scares you a little. Fashion was never meant to be one-size-fits-all. It was meant to make the world more colourful. And in this colourful world, I’ve realised there are three types of people:
The Envious, The Confident, and The Fabulous.
The Envious
-Those who long to dress differently but are too scared to step outside their comfort zone — or simply don’t know where to begin.
The Confident
-Those experimenting, trying new things, and figuring out what works based on how they feel, not on what others think.
The Fabulous
-Those who know exactly what they love and wear it with unapologetic confidence. They don’t care who approves — because they do.
So shouldn’t we all be a little more like Iris Apfel? Wearing what we want, how we want, when we want. Stepping out of the shadow of fashion envy. Refusing to shrink ourselves just because our style doesn’t fit neatly into someone else’s box.
Let’s give ourselves the freedom to express who we are in the most beautiful, personal way possible - through our clothes. Through a fashion entirely our own — and maybe, just maybe, the courage to become who we were always meant to be.