Always know that nobody knows
Not even if you tell them.
Nobody knows I slept in this T-shirt and went to work in it.
Nobody knows I’ve been sleeping in this T-shirt for three days.
Nobody knows my black, nearly unbranded, wide-leg pants once cost double my rent.
Nobody knows I got them for a third.
Nobody knows I’ve owned this Balenciaga bag for half my lifetime.
Nobody knows what memories are stitched into the fabric of this silk dress.
And nobody will ask.
But even if they did — would it change what they see?
Would they read it differently?
Would you?
Even full disclosure does not guarantee understanding.
It might even obscure it.
Because fashion may speak, but interpretation is always in someone else’s language.
Memory of fabric or fabricated memory
What we wear is never just fabric.
It’s projection, memory, contradiction.
It absorbs us, shapes us, and leaves psychological marks behind long after the price tag is gone.
Our clothes can tell stories — but they also keep secrets.
They signal. And they shield.
They reveal, yes — but we might still retreat.
This is the paradox of fashion:
It’s the most visible thing about you, but part of it will always remain unread.
Unreadable, even.
Unread for three days
I wore the same thing three days in a row.
Literally.
Not because I had to.
Not because it felt like me.
Maybe because I didn’t feel like anything at all.
Maybe because I didn’t want to be seen clearly, only outlined.
Did anyone notice? No.
Did anyone ask? No.
Would it have mattered?
Maybe.
The inside joke
And here’s the thing:
I’ve said before — and I still believe — that style is a language.
A system. A form of communication. A method of shaping how the world sees you and how you see yourself.
But not all communication is meant to be decoded.
Some of it is meant to be worn in silence. Like a diary no one else has the key to.
There is always a part of the outfit that’s just for you.
The inside joke. The personal logic. The irrational attachment. The memory sewn into the hem.
The part that doesn’t photograph.
The part that isn’t explained.
The part that doesn’t have to be understood.
The Power of Not Being Known
Always know that nobody knows.
Not what it costs.
Not what it means.
Not what you buried in the lining.
Not what you’ve survived in silk.
Clothes can be wearable secrets.
And they are yours to keep.
Not because you have to hide —
but because not everything has to be seen to be real.
That’s part of the power.
Maybe even the best part.