The First Girls We Love
I grew up surrounded by girls who were not entirely real and yet somehow taught me who I was.
There were the Olsen twins, of course. Mary-Kate and Ashley were real girls, but they existed in my life the way fictional characters do: carefully framed, repeated, and consumable. They showed up in movies and on magazine covers, and in the tiny wardrobes of their Barbie-style dolls, which had the best clothes.
I emulated their haircuts, their layered silhouettes, their quiet cool. I belonged to their fan club, which came with wall posters, trading cards, and signed headshots delivered right to my door. Even then, I understood that style could be multiplicity. That you did not have to choose just one version of yourself. You could be soft and sharp. Minimal and ornate. Two things at once.
But they were not alone.
Cher Horowitz was another icon of my time. Entirely fictional, and somehow just as formative. She showed my generation that clothing could be intentional, articulate, self possessed. Watching Clueless, we felt like we could be feminine and decisive at the same time. That we could be composed, moving through the world like we knew ourselves.
And then there was a girl who was undeniably real: my big sister, Stacie.
She was a teenager in the 90s when I was still small enough to watch everything from slightly below eye level. Everything she and her friends did felt impossibly cool. I wanted to copy it all.
I remember a pair of black plastic framed sunglasses with colored lenses that I saw her wear and immediately needed for myself. I remember her best friend’s black Airwalk sneakers with chunky white stitching. The moment I saw them, I knew I had to have a pair too.
I know my copying probably drove Stacie a little crazy. Little sisters are not subtle. But I did it because I admired her so deeply. I wanted to be just like her. She was the first real girl I ever studied.
Dressing Toward the Future
Then there was Sabrina the Teenage Witch.
I was obsessed. So obsessed that I had to have a lava lamp in my bedroom, a small glowing portal to magic and mood and interiority. I loved them so much that I invented my own pony bead keychain pattern that looked like a lava lamp and sold them at my grandmother’s summer garage sale. I did not know it then, but that was my first experiment in translating obsession into object.
I even begged for a replica of Sabrina’s bedroom phone, despite being a little girl with no one to call. I did not want the utility of it. I wanted the feeling. The permission to imagine myself older, interesting, connected.
I was already dressing, and decorating, toward the person I thought I would become.
Learning Self Expression
The Spice Girls came next.
I did not actually care much about their music, but their style felt radical. I had a Spice Girls tattoo kit that let you recreate their tattoos and logos on your own skin, and now, years later, I have a full tattoo sleeve of colorful jewels.
Somewhere along the way, that instinct stuck. That the body itself could be a canvas and self expression could be permanent if you wanted it to be.
Looking back, I realize I was not just copying these girls, I was trying them on.
Phases, Not Identities
Each phase of my life has had its own uniform. Preppy. Mini emo. Streetwear. Boho. Hippie. Eclectic. My sense of style has always been a moving target, a reflection of the season I was in, the version of myself I was rehearsing.
Preppy is one phase I return to again and again. Not rigid or conservative, but intentional like Cher Horowitz was all those years ago. Grounded. Slightly nostalgic. The kind of aesthetic that feels like structure when life feels uncertain.
The Bethany Skort
That is where the Bethany skort lives.
Yes, it is preppy, but it is not fragile. The herringbone twill wool is dyed to look gently faded, as if it already carries memory. The mid-century inspired satin lining feels indulgent against the skin, and the gold accent buttons catch the light just enough to feel special.
It is a piece that does not demand you stay the same.
Even if the season of life you are in right now does not include plaid skorts, it is worth keeping. A skort like this can go goth or punk just as easily as it can go classic. It all depends on how you style it. It can move with you and be rewoven into different eras of your life.
What Artful Nostalgia Means
That is what I have learned, both as a designer and as a woman: Style is not about arriving at a final version of yourself. It is about honoring the phases. Letting objects witness your becoming. Allowing clothing to be less about trend, and more about companionship.
The girls I loved in the 90s did not give me a single identity, they gave me permission to change.
Some pieces are not for the season you are in. They are for the ones you have not reached yet.
An Invitation
If this reflection resonates with you, you can view the Bethany Skort here. It was designed for the many versions of you, not just the one you are today.
And if you would like to receive future Journal entries before they are shared anywhere else, I invite you to join the Collector’s List. The Journal arrives there first, as part of a quieter conversation about art, memory, and becoming.