Last month, an important theme emerged about ‘being me’. It was a way of saying that I may have been a bit dented and worse for wear, but that I was fundamentally unharmed on the inside. I’ve had time to think about what it means to be me. I love color and often say it is my first language. I’ve been painting again, living with color.

Five years ago I remember worrying that I landed home before I had time to make a celebratory wardrobe. I wore my New York blacks and greys until they began to fall apart, like the tatters of some black moth cocoon. I think i’m hatched now, a proper butterfly. This is how I want to dress, in colors and layers. dressing to please me, and not following some narrow and conforming idea of proper fashion.

life is too short to wear boring clothes