The Ellie Edit

I’ve always held myself to the highest of standards. Some may say that’s damaging, others selfish, but for the few, it is perceived as a risk worth taking. I take great pride in who I have become: a woman who doesn’t let others walk all over her, is confrontational (when needed), and most importantly, never takes no for an answer. However, how does one reach a point where there is no other option than to accept the horror of being told no? You’ve all heard the saying, “Rejection is redirection” and although that is very true, why is it so hard to come to terms with such a cliche statement? I have been someone who envisioned myself as a force, as someone fearless, while having it all planned out. Someone who uses logic rather than emotion, yet why am I in this place of denial? The word no has always been a tactic to me, a word that has little meaning and can be manipulated very easily, but, in this case, rejection dances on the heartstrings of all I’ve worked for. I have to accept what is true: being told no.

Now, this may come off as dramatic but it all comes from a place of anger, passion, and simply being myself. But, when you’re living in a world of people given everything on a golden platter, we, the common population, fall into the stigma of having to sit back and drink from our plastic cups, as the “fortunate” flush our hard work down the drain. Most of us comply with the “well, that’s life”, but from the words of two very smart people I call my mom and dad, I say, “Well, fuck that”. Being told no is what drives the brilliant minds of young innovators, artists, politicians, and writers of our generation. Although it stings the wounds of self-doubt and drives the desire to give up, what better feeling is there than standing in front of those who said “you can’t” while proving you can? I would be lying to you and myself that throughout the years of constant admiration towards the working forces of the Fashion and Beauty industry, I too felt lost amongst the stacks of magazines I’ve collected since I was a young teenager.

From going to a place where I found comfort amongst the smell of glossy paper, strappy sandals, and the articulated words from editors and directors, to now being told you can’t go down a path where your dreams lie is one of those feelings you can’t tread lightly. I went from running through the current to floating above its surface. I saw my future self through a blurred lens and had to figure out a way to escape my blindness. However, when have I become someone who floats? This is MY life and no one is going to tell me no when all my life I’ve been swimming.

As someone who holds the greatest appreciation towards the characters brought to our screens, I have learned from the best and two of my favorite girls, Charlotte York from “Sex and the City” and Andrea Sachs from “The Devil Wears Prada”, where their spirit resembles all that I am and when their identity has been questioned and challenged by those around them, they worked for what they deserved. You and I are someone who will always be tested, who may be seen as weaker than the rest, who might have to stay up later than most for their name to be noticed, but with time and humility, those who once said “we can’t offer you a place here”, will soon ask for a seat at the table you built. So, although it stings and you are waiting for this wound to scab, know that as you stride amongst rejection and stand before the outcome of your hard work, all that will be left is a scar and what was once a feeling of doubt and unknowing will fade, as most wounds do.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up. I wanted to fit into my mother’s heels and wear her necklaces. I wanted to hang out with my older sister’s friends and paint my nails with them. I wanted to run before I knew how to walk. Now that I am 19, and as I reach my last year as a teenager, I wish I could sink into my mom’s shoes again and put my ear up to my sister’s room, taking a peek into the future. But, we can’t go back so might as well step forward. I am now in my second semester as a Freshman here and I can finally say that I am enjoying college. I understand why people call this place “home”. But between you and me, that might have to do with the help of a very well-known friend: Lexapro.

 For the past couple of months, I have dealt with the extremities of anxiety, from nausea to nervousness. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know how to talk about it without feeling judged. I was falling back into my old ways and hiding from the truth of what I was feeling. I knew I wasn’t alone but I felt very lonely. With the support of my family and friends, I was able to get the help I needed and found a solution. I never considered myself as someone who would need medication but here we are and I’m in the early stages of Lexapro. Before I found comfort in not knowing who I was and carving out a hole to hide in, scared to be myself, scared to try. Now, this is me trying (subtle Taylor Swift reference).

 I am now on my 19th journey of rediscovery and that’s okay. I am someone who believes in the act of rebirth through fashion, makeup, and self. As women, we are supposed to always act the right way, never too much but always stand out. I was afraid that once I was medicated I would fall into the societal norms of how a woman is supposed to act. “Acting like a lady” is subjective, offensive, and a false narrative placed on the women who defy these standards. I am myself. I am medicated. And there is nothing wrong with that. I will continue to wear my hair down, speak up, and wear the prints we all love so much. Let’s start with our beloved leopard! 

As we’ve all seen on TikTok, Instagram, and Pinterest, the revival of leopard appreciation is back and better than ever. However, for me, it has always been here, being a neutral in my closet ever since I paired it with red and gold accents. But why now? Why is the leopard replacing the bow epidemic? As most good things do, trends tend to have their moment for a couple of weeks and then die out. From bleaching eyebrows, crochet tops, Y2K, and even cottage core, these trends have paved our generation for years, giving us the chance to find ourselves through other wardrobes and Pinterest boards. I have always been attracted to loud prints and layering with dark colors, but for a long time, I thought I had to follow these trends to be accepted and seen as “cool”, blending in but making it a point to be different. Yet, why as women do we have to conform to what seems acceptable, when in reality it makes us miserable inside?

I felt embarrassed and guilty for expressing myself through big accessories and chaotic makeup looks because I was scared of what others would think of me. Causing a great amount of anxiety and harm to my well-being. Yet, this was and is normal for girls struggling to find their identity, struggling to look in the mirror, and being happy with what reflects on them. In a society that is driven by digital influences and faulty images, it’s hard to know what works for you when you can’t even recognize yourself. But, it’ll pass. These feelings of hopelessness and faking it, will soon turn into dust and be unrecognizable. I found myself through risk and not caring what others thought of me. I’ve found myself, I lost her again, and now she is back. I wear faux leopard fur, I wear big hoops, and I have long nails, but most importantly, I can be who I want, when I want, and how I want. 

There is no right way when it comes to finding yourself. Whether that is through skin care, cooking, running, or even medication, how YOU do it, shouldn’t matter to anyone else but you. After being diagnosed with “Generalized Anxiety Disorder”, I was scared of what that meant for me. Will I change? Will my friends want to be around me? Yet, as I came to terms with it and accepted it, I became more comfortable with the idea that this is normal and that I am not alone. I was living in a state of mind that made me feel horrible and ever since I’ve been on Lexapro, my life is mine again. I remembered who I am, and what I want to achieve, and I am not ashamed of being someone who is medicated. Although it is different for everyone, it is important, especially in college, that we take care of ourselves and remind ourselves that this is for the better. 

I will always have anxiety, and I will go through more downs than ups, but I know with the support of my family and friends, I am capable of more than I know. So are you.

When I think of being someone who is mysterious, I channel my inner Devon Aoki or Lily-Rose Depp. Laid-back hair, darker tones on the eyes, always your classic pair of sunglasses, and even a baby tee or cami tank with your go-to jeans or mini skirt. As an extrovert, I’m not the type of mysterious that reads at a cafe with her headphones, or the type that hyper fixates on a Norman Rockwell reference. I would say I am more the type to just sit in a room and observe and if I happen to have my headphones on, I would be listening to the Renaissance album by Beyonce, obviously.

As I grow older, my fashion sense matures as well. I went through many stages in my fashion journey and I am now at the point in my womanhood where I realize less on the face is okay, where I realize I don’t have to wear what everyone else is wearing. I don’t have to wear the corset top to parties, I can wear my white tee, signature clean makeup, jeans, and sneakers, and that’s enough. That’s what being mysterious is all about, it’s being able to stand out while not being the shiniest one in the room. It’s about not always trying so hard to stand out just because it pleases others. Screw that, stand out because it makes you comfortable.

Wear the Yankee hat with the dad shorts and platform Converse cause you want to. Wear the dress and the heels to lunch cause YOU want to. Being mysterious is making people want to talk about you because if they are talking about you, you’re being remembered, and that means you’re doing something right.

“We are not idealized wild things. We are imperfect mortal beings aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so weird that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves.”

Joan Didion