As a child into my teens attending a private Catholic school, I wore the same uniform every day—a plaid skirt, white shirt, and a navy sweater. The problem wasn’t the uniform itself; it was what the uniform represented. Each morning, when I put it on, I felt like I was stepping into a role that didn’t fit me. It wasn’t just clothing; it was a symbol of an identity I hadn’t chosen, one that felt foreign to my core.
In contrast, I adored my soccer and cheerleading uniforms. I chose those groups, and those uniforms represented belonging to something I loved. I felt connected, powerful, and proud when I wore them. They were expressions of who I was and wanted to be. The Catholic school uniform, though, felt like an obligation to embody a faith and lifestyle I didn’t resonate with. I wasn’t rebelling against uniforms in general—I just didn’t feel at home in this particular one.
This experience of being forced into a representation that didn’t suit me started to shape my view of identity and expression. Maybe it makes perfect sense, in hindsight, that I majored in fashion and became a makeup artist. In fashion and beauty, you have the freedom to create your own identity. You choose what you wear, how you present yourself, and what face you show the world. It’s the polar opposite of what I felt wearing that Catholic school uniform—a uniform that told everyone where I came from, but nothing about who I was.
For most, that uniform likely provided comfort, structure, and pride in representing their faith and community. I understand that. But for me, it was a constant reminder of a life I didn’t fit into, of beliefs I didn’t share. It personified a disconnect between who I was supposed to be and who I actually was.
Majoring in Fashion and graduating makeup school became my way to reclaim control over how I represent myself. It’s not just about aesthetics; it’s about choice. It’s about finally being able to opt in. Each swipe of mascara or decision on an outfit allows me to define my identity in ways that uniform never did. And now, looking back, it feels like my path—fashion, makeup, self-expression—was a natural outcome of wanting to break free from that early sense of constraint.
How many of the uniforms we wear—literal or not—truly represent who we are, and how many keep us from discovering who we could be?