Buckle up, kids, because I'm about to take you on a ride through my personal, emotional, rollercoaster when it comes to Lolita fashion. In my sort of rebirth into the hobby, I decided to bring with me my newfound need to cut the exclamation points and sugar/salt that this blog had previously and let myself be a bit more real.
Content warning: we're going to be talking about mental health, self-loathing, depressive behavior, and disordered eating. If you want to skip this post, please feel free. My next post will be in a few days.
In my return post, I mentioned how Lolita feels "safe" again like it was ever dangerous. The truth of it is that my mental health is extremely poor and latches onto whatever is in reach. For a long time, I fixated on Lolita.
I used it to justify tearing myself down. I'm not pretty/thin/put-together like all the rest. Why do I bother? I can't socialize with my comm because I'm so cringy and awkward and gross at being a friend. And why am I spending this much money? I should be saving it for real-life things like a house or a new pet or paying off debt. Why am I so irresponsible? These things don't fit me anymore, anyway. If I was Responsible and Good, I would sell everything off and put it towards my wedding/debt/work attire.
All these thoughts got worse every time I talked about Lolita out loud or tried to wear a coordinate. I think my last attempt was in 2018 for my first renaissance festival (it was slapdash).
After that, I stopped trying.
But my mental health never got any better. It adapted and had me criticizing myself for other things. I'm spending too much money on food, I'm not social enough, I need to exercise more and stop eating, I deserve all the bad things that happen to me, my attempts at story writing are laughable and I should give up-
And on and on.
I can't even allow myself to like everyday things. So often have I heard that what I enjoy watching or reading is bad, or why I'm wrong for not liking something different. I don't defend my pop culture or preferences in everyday life with the same ferocity of a Lolita, anymore. Instead of why I like things, I learned to head off criticisms with "Idk, I just like crap."
Somewhere in this pandemic mess we're in, I've found that my anxiety and depressive episodes have drastically reduced. I'm not working or making money, but being home keeps me calmer. I have unlimited time to work on my projects and consume my favorite shows and books. When the weather's nice, I take the dog out to play for a bit. When I bake, it's for my SO and I, not for work. Maybe that's given me room to like things again.
I got curious about where the fashion had gone in my absence, so I started poking around LaceMarket and the brand stores. I really need a new everyday purse, anyway, and I told myself a long time ago that it's okay to have a Lolita bag for everyday. I was surprised at how nostalgic it all ways. That, and a classic case of the warm fuzzies when I saw dresses that were on my old wishlist or ones that I'd add in a heartbeat now.
That's when I started thinking... maybe, it's not so bad to go back. Maybe I can have one or two coordinates that I like. I don't have to have a big wardrobe, though I still swoon over a packed closets. And I don't have to go to meetups or anything, either. I can just have fun and feel that happiness again. I realized that I was falling in love with Lolita fashion for all the same reasons I did before.
I'm allowed to be feminine, and I'm allowed to define my femininity. It's okay if ruffles and dresses and floral prairie prints make me happy. It's okay to like lace and cats and ribbons.
I'm allowed to like things.
That goes for you, all, too.
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