Write your Fall Story
goodbye style prescriptions, hello style narratives.
note— i finished this essay right before election day and sat on it until now. after i accepted the news, i didn’t feel like publishing anything it just didn’t seem very important. especially in the rush of folks sharing abortion resources, misguided anger, and empty reassurance. now, some time has passed, and the taurus full moon has peaked in the sky. i remember my central goal in the words i put forward and that is to trigger some sort of critical thought in my readers, to spark curiosity, to convince you all to become life long students, critics, and thinkers. and i think that goal is more important than ever now. it is clear the empire is failing, it is now up to us, those unhappy with the status quo to dream up a creative future outside of presidents and labor and hierarchal access. so i will think out loud, will you join me?
I adore this vintage, home-sewn floral jumpsuit for fall. Every autumn since the inception of this relationship, our love has grown closer. Ask anyone else, and it’s decidedly a spring or early summer piece— it’s cream, swirled with dainty florals, sleeveless, and crafted from a light woven fabric.
But I live in LA, and most of fall goes like this: thick, brooding clouds blanket the sky each morning, making it hazy, low, and wet. But by two p.m., your hoodie feels suffocating.
With LA’s insistence on the sun, the lightweight florals fit into autumn expertly, and the jumpsuit fits on me perfectly, too, or so I’ve been told ;). I enjoy collecting vintage home-sewn items, like the jumpsuit; I feel connected to the women of the past in an even more intimate way. With home-sewn vintage, the story unfolds. I get to ponder not only the circumstance in which she wore the garment but also the circumstances in which it was constructed. Why this fabric? And from where? Could she ever imagine it’d end up on me each fall?
A couple of autumns ago, I worked the morning shift doing e-commerce for Goodwill at a frigid warehouse up in Atwater, near the hills and above the river. Without the sun above us to heat the place, I knitted arm warmers to get through. Errant strings hung at my heart as I hugged my pink Zojirushi tumbler into my center, trying to siphon heat straight into my sternum. Besides the dusty underside of the aging Dell on the corner of my desk, there were few sources of warmth in the warehouse, so I savored them all. Our workspace had no windows, so on the days I got to handle the vintage, designer, and sample pieces, I held on to their light. Pondering how they ended up warehoused here with the rest of us. Dead grandmother? Careless rich kid? Failed release? 70s housewife with impeccable dressmaking skills & narrow hips?
Sometimes, I’d get caught up here like I did over this floral jumpsuit.
I’m the same size as her and of similar height, too. What else did we share? To what occasions did she wear this? And with what shoes? ( I struggle here.) Where did she spend her days? Were they as sunny as mine here in LA? Where did this hole spring from? I’d ask her a million questions and made up a million stories to answer each. They almost make me comfortable with all the different me-s I’ve been and still could be.
Last fall, I (almost) wore this jumpsuit to Thanksgiving dinner with my boyfriend’s family. There was hardly a cloud above us that afternoon as the four of us- Sam (boyfriend), Ari (sister), and Jiji (cat) chatted up the five. I stroked Jiji’s coat on my lap; his fur gleamed like melting chocolate in the sunlight. Without warning, he sprung a leak. In a perfect parabola, the cat pee streamed down onto Sam’s phone resting on the center console, a hilariously disgusting occasion; you can’t help but laugh.
This year, I’ve worn this jumpsuit many times. At the birth of summer, I locked all my clothing in a storage unit as I dealt with a demon in my apartment (bed bugs >.< thankfully, they’ve been exorcised). As one of the 20 clothing items I kept out of storage to get me through, her dainty florals became a consistent part of this season.
Now, its fabric holds more than just my shape. It carries the sweet-spicy smell of sweet potato pies, the woodsmoke that clung to it after nights around fires where we traded stories, shadows dancing. It knows the musty breath of warehouses and the warm, wet tragedy of a cat's nervous bladder on a long drive. But mostly, the fabric holds laughter, the kind that comes after surviving something absurd, and giggles that bubble up from the belly when you realize life's darkest moments often wear the most ridiculous masks.
Trends will come and go, but this jumpsuit has earned its place every autumn. Its dainty flowers bloom with memories that no fashion cycle could ever replicate.
What’s Your Autumn Story?
Every season (fall especially with Fashion Week), the industry attempts to sell us a story, “moody grungey florals for brat fall,” is one I saw recently. While I wholeheartedly acknowledge the thrill of being the first to have the “it” item of the season, I want to propose a different way to think about fall trends in a way that considers our unique narratives and sensorial memories.
I implore you to define your fall. We don’t have to ignore trends; we get more philosophical about them. Take the “moody florals,” for example. Let’s ask ourselves, “How am I when I’m in a funky mood?” For me, it’s never red; it’s always blue, black, or grey. I never run hot—I go cold and steely. It tastes metallic. I’m obsessive, repeating thoughts, and craving foods from childhood.
And moody means not just lows but highs, too. Okay, “What do my highs feel like?” Light, feathery, flowery—even in fall and winter. When I’m happy, I’m curious. I want to reach out, try new things, feel new textures between my teeth. I want to spread, sprawl, take up space, and face towards the sun.
Though never found on the trending page, my floral jumpsuit fits into my autumn story squarely. Light florals, chunky brown boots, and a vintage Penny Lane leather jacket round out my “moody florals.”
What is your story of fall? What does autumn mean to you? For many of us, fall meant shedding leaves. New beginnings, a new school year. What does renewal feel like? Is it warm? Like a mohair sweater. Or maybe crisp? Resembling a starched button-up.
What does fall taste like to you? Maybe bittersweet, like a cranberry? Sometimes autumn is wet concrete after a storm, grim but hopeful, a grey suit. For me, fall is romance. My lover’s and I anniversary resides right at the start, 10/22. My dress flames red like his cheeks on those chilly beach nights together.
With our narratives to guide us, we can incorporate trends into our wardrobe more authentically. When we shop like this—guided by the truths of who we are instead of the prescriptions of who we should be—the regretful purchases dissipate like autumn’s morning fog over my beloved Los Angeles. This isn't about the hollow hunger to fill spaces in our wardrobe or chasing the next shiny thing that catches the eye. We weave ourselves whole, thread by thread, with each piece chosen not to patch a hole but to deepen the tapestry of our becoming.
Following Trends Authentically: A Guide
Determine the essence of the trend and incorporate this into your dress. Why does it appeal to you? What does it call home to in your existence? How can you connect it to your experiences? Every fall, plaid creeps back like a faithful lover, insistent and familiar. It arrives carrying stories—yours, mine, ours—in its crossed lines and careful symmetries. The question isn't where to buy it, but which ghost of yourself you're dressing.
Are you the girl who traced her fingers over library books in a fitted plum plaid blazer? Or did you find yourself in basement shows in the 2010s, a student of ASAP Rocky, plaid hung loose from hips like a battle flag? Perhaps your connection runs deeper: to the tartan that crossed oceans in your grandmother's chest, folded between photographs and fear. Or maybe it's bratty—you, thirteen, bedroom mirror witness to endless poses in bright fuschia buffalo check button down, singing into a hairbrush with Avril.
This is how we make meaning from fabric: by reading our lives in its patterns, by choosing which version of ourselves to let speak through the cloth. In this way, trends aren’t just moments; but mirrors into the self. When you wrap that plaid around your waist or button it to your throat, you're not just getting dressed—you're deciding which chapter of yourself to share with the world today, which story to let others read in passing.
I won’t tie a red flannel around my waist like I did ten years ago, but I’ll pay homage to her. I felt so rebellious staying out late back then, in my BDG skinny jeans, push-up bra, knock-off Marant sneaker wedges, and light cotton flannel my sister bought from Zizibeh. How do I wear plaid and honor that rebellious spirit at 27? It looks more like clashing prints, polka dots with tartan, and a strong, somewhat offensive scent.
Adapt or Sit back. The barn jackets arrived like a fever dream in my algorithm, promising some pastoral fantasy I never knew I wanted. For about thirty minutes, I let myself believe in it: maybe I wanted to be that girl who knows her way around paddocks and understands the language of hay and leather. But fantasies crack like drought-earth under scrutiny. I am concrete and city busses. My hands know keyboards, not bridles. Upon further inspection, what seduced me were the toggles—those beautiful, ancient closures that turn dressing into ritual. They whispered to me like the ties on my Niko And… vest from Japan. The strings transform into perfect bows under my fingers. I already own this magic; it lives in my closet; maybe it speaks in a different accent but tells the same story.
Niko And… vest layered with Gap hoodie Sometimes desire is just memory trying to find a new shape. The barn jacket was never about the barn at all—it was about the quiet poetry of fastening, the small ceremonies we perform each morning when we decide who to be. I'll keep my city skin, my vest with its whispered bows, and let someone else live out the pastoral dream.
Shift from building a personal style to building a style philosophy.
I wrote about this earlier this year but here’s a quick run-down of series of shifts.
Whatever you do, tell your story. You have one, and it’s up to you to make it legible.
I so look forward to your writing!!!! Another treat and much needed grounding in how I understand my style
This is beautifully written, thoughtful and charming and helps takes us below the surface into a wonderful excursion into places we may not go or see on our own. I'm so glad you persisted in publishing.