ELEMENTS OF STYLE

ELEMENTS OF GRIEF: PART II

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ELEMENTS OF GRIEF: PART II 〰️

JUNE 24, 2016

Imani Smith

09. 04. 2024

With the abrupt sickness then passing of my father at the top of 2023 came alterations to nearly every facet of my life- including my style. Here are is the second half of my story

After some of the dust settled, most of the end-of-life loose ends were tied and my allotted bereavement time ran out I was supposed to get back to my life. This was an uphill battle because not only was I just a shell of myself being brought to my knees by random episodes of sadness, anger and regret, I still had obligations.

I agreed to participate in a big philanthropic project as the lead stylist months before my father got sick. The time had finally come for the project to begin and as much as I wanted to drop out, I didn’t want to inconvenience the organizers or let anyone down. I knew that in my past bouts of depression, I tricked myself out of doing the things that were guaranteed to bring me joy. I told myself that I didn’t want to sabotage myself again but at the time, I didn’t realize that I was dealing with an entirely different beast- grief.

I continued to participate in the project, but I wasn’t my best self. It was absolutely one of the most fulfilling professional experiences that I’d ever had up until that point. The problem was that I couldn’t even bring myself to enjoy it. I felt tremendous guilt for not being 100% present emotionally during tender moments with some of the participants. I was just going through the motions, which isn’t the way that I prefer to live my life. To add insult to injury, I could only muster up the mental strength to either repeat past outfits or just wear matching sets. My personal looks felt thoughtless, often rushed and my best ones were average at best. How was I supposed to be the lead stylist, the sartorial expert, and I was hardly leading by example? I felt like a fraud.

Not to mention, my job had recently implemented a strict dress code within the past couple of months, so I was feeling defeated AND oppressed. I used the freedom I had at work to test out new ideas and combinations, so being stripped of that felt like I took a cut in pay. Being creatively exhausted was one thing but being forced to dilute my style was unbearable. Plus, the timing couldn’t have been any worse for me.

The project was a big success. Multiple participants expressed gratitude for my input as well as the entire experience as a whole. The exhibit that documented and followed the experience of the participants was very well received. It was an amazing experience, but I still felt hollow. I could hardly pull enough inspiration to dive into any of my own projects and it made me feel even worse. All the pressure that I felt was internal because literally no one around me had a single negative thing to say. Of course, this made me feel even more defeated because I couldn’t even allow myself to be uplifted by the kind words and positivity that surrounded me.

Only therapy and time could truly ease this pain. I was kind of tired that not even rest could remedy. Occasionally, I would push through and put a decent look together, take a nice photo or even participate in another activity that I agreed to at an earlier date. Despite all those things, I never felt like that previous version of myself. In some ways, it was exhilarating. I didn’t have the capacity to care what anyone else thought about certain things that I did, said or wore like I may have in the past. On the other hand, I hadn’t experienced any true joy in quite some time. The only things that got my wheels turning were unpleasant.

While riding that rollercoaster of emotions I still had plenty of positive experiences, particularly new ones that I hadn’t experienced before. I traveled alone to San Juan, PR for the first time, I hiked Papago Mountain in Tempe Arizona, I saw Beyoncé from floor seats for her Renaissance tour. I took my peace, relaxation and self-care more seriously than I ever had in my life. Through laughs, tears and everything in between I made every effort to fill my cup, literally one drop at a time.

As I heal, I feel myself getting stronger. I feel myself thinking more abstract thoughts and sometimes even more inclined to create. I still struggle to carve out extra time to get dressed because I find myself needing more of it than I did in the past. If I’m not throwing on something neutral and nondescript for my current job, I feel like I need to make up for lost time and truly wow myself before I feel comfortable enough to leave the house. If I phone it in and slip into a coordinating set from a fast fashion brand, and don’t even add any extra details, I feel like I’ve lost myself. Unfortunately, some days, that’s literally all I have to give.

Instead of rushing to buy something new because I didn’t provide myself enough time to be thoughtful, I’ve reacquainted myself with the idea of leaning on what’s already tried and true in my wardrobe. I’ve talked about that exact thing in the past (get into those previous Elements of Style) and I have truly practiced what I have preached. I have worked for over a decade curating a closet full of pieces that I love, and this is the best possible time to feast on the fruits of my labor. As I re-learn how to manage my time and my expectations of myself, I’m falling in love with some of my favorite things all over again.

I don’t think that my sensibilities have changed very much but I find my looks being more mood based than ever. (I didn’t think that was even possible.)

Aside from losing my father, several things have changed in the past year and a half. One of those things being that I’ve aged. What hasn’t changed is that I still have no interest in abiding by any imaginary societal guidelines for how women my age should be dressing.

It has also been difficult to ignore the shift in beauty standards. Although I spend significantly less time on social media than I did in the recent past, I can’t help but notice that I’m seeing a lot more ribcage on my timelines. Larger bodies are falling out of favor, there’s a huge decrease in plus sized models on runways, celebrities are quietly reversing their BBLs, the Ozempic is flowing, and brands are nixing their expansive size offerings. Early 2000s fatphobia is back in full force. Lots of the media that I’m consuming, by choice or otherwise, is trying to convince me that I’m not worthy. What hasn’t changed is that I’m still very aware that everything that I love about myself still stands whether I lose or gain another 100 lbs. What I wear and create is still fashionable, regardless of my size.

In the same vein of aging, my understanding of life and mortality has evolved, as well. I’m coming to terms with the fact that my time here really IS limited. I won’t live forever, and neither will the people that I love. I don’t want any regrets. I’m not interested in operating out of fear disguised as caution. I don’t want to purposefully put myself in any disadvantageous situations. Every choice has a consequence, and all of my actions will have reactions. I also want to enjoy what’s left of my life. Joy is my biggest priority. I’m listening to my mind and body and if I have the energy to spare, I’m not turning down any opportunity to look or feel fabulous.

I’m learning, growing and healing every single day. There are more low lows than high highs but I’m finally starting to see a pinhole of light at the end of this tunnel. I hope to gain the strength to stretch myself in the direction of more creation. Now that some of the bleeding has stopped for me, I’m hopeful that I can return to being a source of healing for others. The most fulfilling and gratifying moments in my life were guiding my clients through their style journeys and curating looks that transformed the way that they saw themselves.

Life goes on and so will I.

Happy Birthday, Dad <3