Style, Self-Image, and Staying True to Yourself

This was definitely not the topic I had in mind when I planned this blog.

But if I’m going to keep this space honest, this is something that has been on my mind for a long time.

Style Is More Than Fashion

Style.
Not fashion in the superficial way people sometimes talk about it. Not trends. Not labels. Not looking expensive so people can notice.
I’m talking about style as self-expression.

Style as identity.
Style as one of the ways we tell the world, and ourselves, who we are becoming.

And I’ve been thinking about those moments when we feel like dressing well. When we have an image in our mind of how we want to look that day. Maybe we picture the outfit. The shoes.
The jewelry. The way we want to walk into a room.

And then, right before we do it, something hits us.
Is this too much?
What are people going to think?
Will they think I’m pretending to be someone I’m not?
Will they think I’m trying too hard?
Will they think I changed?

And here’s the honest part.

In the beginning, it might feel exactly like that.

It might feel like pretending.
It might feel uncomfortable.
It might feel like you are putting on a version of yourself that your body hasn’t fully accepted yet, even if deep down you know it belongs to you.

When I Felt Like I Was Pretending

I remember this so clearly from years ago, when I was managing the Gucci department at Neiman Marcus.

I was dressing in Gucci. I had a great discount, and I also had an allotment I could use so I could “represent” the brand. And believe me, at first I absolutely felt like I was pretending to be someone else.
It felt freaking weird.
It felt out of place.
Especially walking into the store before I had fully embodied being the “Gucci manager.”

I don’t love big labels screaming, “Hey, look at me, I’m wearing a $3,000 suit.”
That was never me.
The labels were inside. The clothes were beautiful, elegant, tailored, intentional. But I knew the price tag. And that alone made me uncomfortable at first.

There was this strange gap between who I was becoming and who my nervous system still thought I was allowed to be.

But after a while, something shifted.
It became normal.
It became part of me.
It became who I was.
Not because the clothes changed me, but because I adapted to the standard I was stepping into.

I started expecting myself to show up in a different way. I started feeling comfortable in that level of quality, presence, and refinement. I started understanding that dressing well wasn’t about proving anything. It was about alignment.

A few years later, when I managed the Tommy Hilfiger store, this wasn’t an issue at all anymore.
Even if I wore a runway piece, it felt just right.
It didn’t feel like pretending.
It felt natural.

And that’s what our brain and body do. They adapt.

They adapt to a new standard when we allow ourselves to stay in it long enough.

We Also Adapt to Lower Standards

But the opposite is also true.
We can adapt to lowering our standards too.
And that also happened to me.

A little over ten years ago, when I moved to this house, my whole environment changed.
I went from those years of fashion, polished outfits, beautiful shoes, retail energy, luxury details, and daily presentation to becoming a full-time stay-at-home mom in a farmhouse in an agricultural area.

And little by little, sweatpants and leggings became my normal.
Sneakers became my normal.
Comfort became my normal.

And please hear me when I say this: there is nothing wrong with comfort. There is nothing wrong with leggings. There is nothing wrong with a softer, slower life.
But for me, it went beyond comfort.

It became disconnection.

I donated so many gorgeous high heels because I thought, “When am I ever going to wear these again?”
And the truth is, for a long time, I practically didn’t.
I stopped dressing like the woman who loved fashion.
I stopped reaching for the pieces that made me feel beautiful.
I stopped seeing my wardrobe as a form of expression.

And little by little, I adapted to an environment that didn’t fully reflect me.

The Difference Between Adaptation and Identity

At the time, I don’t think I realized how much of myself I was putting away.

Not just the shoes.
Not just the clothes.

Pieces of me.
Pieces of my identity.
Pieces of the woman who loved details, textures, quality, craftsmanship, beauty, elegance, and presence.

I didn’t stop loving those things.

I just stopped giving myself permission to live them.

And it took me a long time to believe in myself again enough to dress the way I actually felt inside.
The way that represented the woman I had become.
The way that matched the reinvention I talk about all the time.
Because that Laura Ingalls version of me from the past decade had to die in some way so powerful, confident Gaby could come back to life.
And I say that with love.

That version of me wasn’t bad.
She was doing what she needed to do.
She was mothering. She was surviving. She was adapting. She was creating a home. She was living through seasons that required different parts of her.

But she was not the full story.

And at some point, I had to stop confusing adaptation with identity.
Just because I had adapted to a certain lifestyle didn’t mean that was all I was allowed to be.
Just because my environment was casual didn’t mean I had to abandon elegance.
Just because I lived in an agricultural area didn’t mean I had to stop being the woman who loved beautiful things.
Just because no one around me was dressing a certain way didn’t mean I was “too much” for wanting to.

Self-Image Work Gets Real

That is where self-image work gets very real.

Because it is one thing to say, “I am reinventing myself.”
It is another thing to get dressed like the woman you say you are becoming and then have your brain whisper:
Who do you think you are?
That little voice can be loud.
And sometimes I still hear it.
I still sometimes feel a little off when I wear the chunky necklace, the tailored pants, the beautiful flats, the elevated outfit for an ordinary day.

But now I let myself stay in that discomfort.

I don’t run from it.
I don’t change clothes just to make myself smaller.
I don’t water myself down so other people feel more comfortable.

I remind myself: this is just the space between the old normal and the new normal.

And I can trust that if I keep choosing it, my body will catch up.
Because that is what happened before.

The first time, I adapted to a higher standard.
Then, without realizing it, I adapted to a lower one.

And now, I am consciously choosing again.
This time, with awareness.
That’s the difference.

Coming Back to Yourself

It’s not about dressing up for other people.
It’s not about trying to look rich.
It’s not about labels.
It’s not about needing attention.
It’s not about proving that I’m someone.

It’s about coming back to myself.
It’s about honoring the woman I am now.
It’s about not abandoning the parts of me that love beauty, style, quality, detail, and elegance just because my daily life doesn’t “require” it.

Because honestly, why does life need to require it?
Why do we need a reason to feel beautiful?
Why do we need an event to dress like ourselves?
Why do we need permission to look like the woman we know we are inside?

There is something powerful that happens when your outer world starts matching your inner identity.

And I don’t mean this in a shallow way.

I mean your home.
Your clothes.
Your routines.
Your food.
Your movement.
Your skincare.
Your boundaries.
Your calendar.
Your energy.
Your standards.

All of it begins to speak.

All of it either says, “I remember who I am,” or “I keep putting myself last.”

Style as a Mirror

And for me, style became one of those mirrors.

It showed me where I had adapted.
It showed me where I had hidden.
It showed me where I had confused practicality with self-abandonment.
It showed me where I was waiting for some perfect future version of my life to let myself feel like me again.

And I don’t want to do that anymore.

Now I have a beautiful, curated wardrobe.
Not overflowing. Not random. Not full of things that don’t feel like me.

Curated.
Intentional.
Aligned.

Even my workout clothes are at a level that represents who I am today.
Because the woman I am becoming doesn’t disappear in the small daily moments.

She is not only present when I go out.
She is not only present in photos.
She is not only present when there is an audience.

She is present in the morning.
She is present when I move my body.
She is present when I work from home.
She is present when I go to the grocery store.
She is present because I am present.

And if heads turn when I walk into a room now, I know it is not just because of what I’m wearing.
It is because of the energy I radiate.

It is because I am no longer apologizing for taking up space.
It is because I am no longer dressing to disappear.
It is because I am allowing the outside to reflect the inside again.

A Question for You

And maybe this is not about clothes for you.
Maybe this is about something else.
Maybe it’s the way you speak.
Maybe it’s the way you show up online.
Maybe it’s the way you decorate your home.
Maybe it’s the way you move your body.
Maybe it’s the way you receive compliments.
Maybe it’s the way you allow yourself to want more.
Maybe it’s the version of you that feels “too much” only because you haven’t let her be normal yet.

So I want to ask you:

Where in your life have you adapted so much that you forgot what actually feels like you?
Where have you lowered your standards and called it being realistic?
Where have you mistaken comfort for alignment?
Where have you been afraid people will think you’re pretending, when maybe you are simply practicing becoming more of who you really are?

Because sometimes the new version of you will feel uncomfortable at first.

Not because it’s wrong.
But because it’s unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar doesn’t mean fake.
It just means your body is learning a new normal.

Let it.
Stay with it.
Dress for it.
Move like it.
Choose like it.
Speak like it.
Live like it.

Not to impress anyone.
Not to prove anything.
But because staying true to yourself sometimes means giving yourself permission to become visible again.

And maybe the most powerful thing you can wear is not the outfit.
Maybe it’s the decision to stop hiding.

With love, always,

Gaby