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Looking back through old school yearbooks, it's easy to see that my style has changed a lot over the years. I'm not talking about the typical I-used-to-be-dressed-entirely-by-my-mom-and-wore-leggings-everyday-but-now-have-a-say-in-my-outfits sort of thing that normal people go through. No, I intentionally identified with extremely well defined dressing methods throughout most of my academic career, and my transitions between styles were just about as abrupt and defined as possible. Over the years I've pretty much covered the whole gamut of dressing philosophies-I started high school in frills, polka dots, and baby doll dresses, and in the my four years there tried out tomboy and earthy styles and finally graduated in a flowy floral dress of the variety championed by the likes of Nicole Richie. I only just got rid of two ripping at the seams-literally, that bags ripped as I dragged their bulk out of my house-garbge bags of undeniably bohemian pieces.
Now, I'd like to think that everyone worth their starch has at least a brief one night stand with gothic dressing, but embarrassingly enough my affair with darkness was...longer...to the point that every now and then traces of it pop of in my subconscious even now and everything in my closet with the faintest resemblance of color makes me want to projectile vomit. For proof of aforementioned statement, just look at today's outfit-THE washed black jeans and a black tee with cutouts. Thankfully, I managed to pull myself away from the oversized, inky black docs.