A personal exploration of fashion and identity in an age of rapidly evolving trend cycles

 By Lucy Kebirungi

My mother’s tailor workshop was a safe haven to me growing up, though I didn’t know it then. One of my earliest memories is of an afternoon I spent with my older sisters and mom after school in her shop, watching her interact with her employees and customers. While we’d been there countless times, that day tends to stand out when I try to remember a time I felt safe. 

The sound of sewing machines whirring, the smell of chalk on cloth and my mother beaming at me while she worked all came together to envelop me in a warmth I have trouble finding most days while I navigate adulthood. Beyond just seeing it through a nostalgic lens, there’s more to be said about tireless devotion to fashion and creativity within the space. 

It was a liberating feeling as a 12-year-old. I felt a rush putting together bright, often mismatched outfits while drawing inspiration from the costume designs on Disney Channel shows. There was no judgment when building my wardrobe then. A lot of what I wanted to wear was taken from the culture at the time and simultaneously driven by the desire to reflect my personality, though this wasn’t a conscious decision. 

To cope, I did the only thing that felt safe — I hid. I swapped bright colors and fitted clothes for oversized, dark pieces, creating a shield that made me feel invisible. For years, this became my uniform, a layer of protection that kept others at a distance and helped me blend in, free from the hungry eyes I so dreaded. The clothes felt heavy, literally and figuratively, but the security they brought was comforting enough to bear. 

“Suddenly, what I wore felt less like a form of expression and more like something to be cautious of”

Then the pandemic hit, and with it came the isolation that forced me to confront my sense of self. I realized that, somewhere along the way, I had lost my style but, more importantly, my identity. I had buried myself under layers that no longer felt genuine. I couldn’t say for certain who I was, what drove me or woke me up in the morning. I was forced to face the fact that I had no real passion for much of anything in my life, instead spending my days constantly thinking about how others would perceive me. 

Searching for something to hold onto, I turned to trends, eagerly experimenting with whatever was popular at the moment. But dressing to fit fleeting trend cycles only made me feel more disconnected from my true self, as each new look felt like borrowing an identity and throwing on a mask. Rather than hide behind oversized clothes, I allowed myself to blend into the background by following the crowd. That sense of disconnection became overwhelming, and I slipped back into autopilot — the same state I’d been in before the pandemic. 

When lockdown restrictions eased, I returned to the comfort of clothes that hid me, gravitating toward the security of blending in rather than standing out. Watching trend cycles play out now feels strange, almost surreal, as it reminds me of that same dark place I was in. So many people, dressed in near-identical outfits, walk through life lacking a genuine connection to what they wear — as they slip out of coquette for spring and into bloke-core for the summer. I can’t speak for them, but from my experience, it’s easy to fall into that trap, dressing to keep up with trends rather than to express oneself. 

For me, the turning point came unexpectedly. One day, as I sorted through my clothes, I found a skirt my mom had bought me years ago- something I had held dear and loved but stopped wearing because it didn’t fit the trend I was trying to embody. Putting it on felt like a revelation, a reminder of who I was before I let outside influences dictate my style. The moment set me on a journey of self-reflection.

I began to see its harm and understand how slippery this slope is. As I took the first steps to build my current closet, I reflected on my experience with social-media-driven trend cycles. These endless cycles, I realized, ignore the joy of experimentation and create a false sense of community. I once found safety in that illusion. While I now believe this dynamic fuels the demand for the next big trend, I’ve also come to see the role larger corporations play — incentivizing people to buy more clothes under the guise of ‘self-expression.’

Now, as I rebuild my relationship with fashion and identity, I’m learning to choose pieces that reflect me. As a passionate, driven and outspoken Black woman, I often find myself in spaces where preconceived notions of who I am speak before I do. While it would be easy to shift away from that, to become unnoticeable by dressing in a way that doesn’t reflect myself, I’ve decided to embrace who I am in my truest form. 

Through warm tones, yellow gold jewelry and bold hairstyles that reflect my heritage, I’m able to embrace my voice and reflect my passion. While my current wardrobe starkly contrasts the bright and daring approach I once had, it feels like a testament to who I am now and how I’ve been able to mature. Fashion is no longer about fitting in or keeping up but about embracing my own voice by wearing clothes that reflect my journey. Ultimately, it’s about choosing authenticity over trends and having the strength to grow alongside your personal style. 

Today, each piece I wear feels like a quiet homage to my mother’s workshop. By being myself unapologetically and having the strength to experiment outside of my comfort zone, I can honour the memory of the space that taught me the power of fashion and self-expression. When I think back to those afternoons watching her work tentatively and the safety that came with it, I’m reminded that there is power in how I decide to present myself and that hiding behind clothes that don’t represent me is deeply harmful. 

My closet now reflects my complexity as a multi-faceted individual — comfort has become a priority, grounding my choices above all else. My outfits for class differ from what I’d wear out, yet they’re still interconnected, both rooted in creating a feeling of ease and confidence. At the heart of my style is a desire to replicate the familiarity I felt in my mother’s workshop, that sanctuary where self-expression flourished without judgment. 

I believe that self-expression doesn’t need to be about playing it safe. There’s power in crafting a space that feels secure within how you present yourself to the world around you. It’s about cultivating joy in your choices, wearing pieces that feel right, not because they’re trendy or in season, but because they reflect a genuine part of who you are. In choosing to dress for myself, I’ve found a new layer of connection to fashion — a way to celebrate my individuality while honouring the sense of comfort and self-assurance I hope others can find too.