Two Things Can Be True

I always knew I wanted to work in fashion. I just had no idea what I was walking into.

I went to FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology, and my first weeks there, I'd watch people walk past on 27th Street and think, what is happening? Men in heels. Tutus paired with sequin tops and cowboy boots. Glitter, boas, feathers, worn like it was nothing, to class. And then there was me. Jeans and a tee. Basic. Boring. Trying very hard not to be noticed.

Because here's the thing…those people had it. It wasn't their body. It wasn't designer clothes. It wasn't even that they were more beautiful than everyone else.

They weren't asking permission to be seen.

They just owned the room before they even opened their mouths. And THAT fascinated me!!

Then I tried it myself…

Not the tutu, but full disclosure, I do own one. Halloween costume, years later. And let me tell you...I did feel fabulous in it.

But what I did do was throw on some cool, but comfortable, heels (because I never sacrifice comfort) and popped into Zara on 7th Avenue for a few fun tops. I showed up to class a different person. Same me. Different armor.

My first real job out of school was at Nina McLemore, a higher-end women's label. Nina's whole mission was simple and, honestly, kind of perfect: dress women so that when they walk into the room, they belong at the table. Her clients were board members, attorneys, philanthropists — women giving speeches, walking into rooms where every detail was being watched, whether they liked it or not. I watched women put on a jacket, look in the mirror, straighten their shoulders almost without realizing it. I was lucky enough to help make those jackets. And I got to see, firsthand, what the right one could do for a woman before she ever said a single word.

Then I had kids, and I lost it all over again.

Not the tutu-level confidence…I mean the basic willingness to try. For a while there, my uniform was joggers and a tank top, both usually with some combination of spit-up and stains I'd stopped noticing. I wasn't dressing for the room anymore. I wasn't even dressing for leaving the house. And even when I did go out, I didn't bother. It felt easier not to try.

It took me years to use my own background against my own excuses. I knew everything about how clothes are supposed to fit and move and make you feel. I spent a career giving that to other women, yet somehow I'd convinced myself I didn't deserve the same effort. About a year ago, I forced myself out of the joggers and into real pants again with the motivation to create Not a Skinny Mom Project.

So here's what I've learned:

Two things can be true. Confidence comes from within, but sometimes the right clothes help you find it.

Fashion isn't the answer. But it can be the permission slip.

The armor.

The reminder.

And sometimes, that's enough to walk into the room like you belong there.

So the next time you catch yourself people-watching, wondering what someone has that you don't, remember this:

It probably isn't a perfect body. It might just be that they found clothes that make them feel good.

And that kind of confidence has a way of showing up before they ever say a word.

You deserve to feel that way too!