My Closet, My Archive
If there’s one compliment I’ve consistently received throughout the years, it’s:
“Anika, you’re always dressed perfectly for the occasion.”
And truthfully? I take pride in that. Fashion has never just been about clothes to me—it’s been a form of expression, of identity, of saying something without having to say anything at all.
Middle School: Uniforms & Early Rebellion
Silver Trail Middle was all polos and khakis. But even within the constraints of school dress code, I found ways to make it mine. I collected pants in every approved color—burgundy, navy, gray, black—and made a personal project out of color-coordinating collared shirts, cardigans, and my ever-reliable white sneakers.
Looking back, it was my first experience curating outfits that felt intentional. Even if the options were limited, the act of choosing mattered.
High School: Freedom, Phases & Finding My Aesthetic
After years in uniform, high school felt like fashion freedom. I’d spend hours at night planning outfits, taking into account everything from the weather to lab periods to the general vibe of the day. I was styling with purpose—chasing a feeling, not just a look.
Ninth grade, circa 2018, was post-Tumblr but still eccentric. My style was influenced by the pop culture around me—funky prints, bold silhouettes, and a touch of that Miami-Latina-Tumblr-Bieber energy that floated through my school. It was chaotic in the best way.
Sophomore year ushered in TikTok’s fashion influence. I dove headfirst into the “soft girl” era—curled hair, cottagecore skirts, oversized sweaters, and delicate jewelry sets that changed daily. I leaned into gentle aesthetics and built outfits around emotion more than trend.
By junior year, I found myself channeling Phoebe Buffay from Friends—platform shoes, thrifted florals, floaty skirts, whimsical tops, bangs, and braids. There was something freeing about leaning into that quirky, vintage feel—70s boho with a bit of 2000s charm. I dressed like the kind of person who wrote poetry in cafés and carried five lip glosses at once.
Then came senior year, where my style finally started to feel like mine. Still playful, but more curated. I paid attention to seasonal palettes, layered with intention, and embraced a more modest yet current aesthetic. I wasn’t just trying things on anymore—I was choosing what felt like me.
College: Dressing in a World of Uniform Sameness
Stepping into college, I realized fashion had settled into categories—athleisure, the jeans-and-crop-top standard, streetwear, and the occasional decade-inspired dresser. People knew what worked for them and stuck to it.
It wasn’t the style explosion I imagined, but I learned to adapt. Trends cycled fast—low-rise jeans attempted a comeback (still unsure about that), baby tees re-entered the chat, and corporate wear became more normalized, especially among us business school students constantly interviewing or presenting.
Still, I found myself wanting variety. So I gave myself the freedom to shift.
Some days I dress like Carrie Bradshaw—heels, a statement piece, and just enough chaos to feel alive. Other days I lean into Rachel Green’s polished, feminine ease—sweaters, boots, and the kind of effortless pairing you could wear anywhere.
And always, I return to something I now recognize as mine.
Now: Dressing Like Me
My style today is a mix of everything I’ve been through—intentional but flexible, expressive without trying too hard.
Sometimes it’s jeans and a crisp white top (you can never go wrong).
Sometimes it’s satin skirts with fitted knits.
Sometimes it’s oversized sweaters and boots that feel like armor.
And sometimes, it’s a full-on Pinterest board moment—just because I feel like it.
I think fashion, for me, has always been a way of archiving.
Every outfit I’ve worn represents a version of myself—what I was feeling, who I was becoming, what inspired me at the time.
I don’t believe in picking one aesthetic and sticking to it. I believe in dressing for the version of me that shows up that day—bold, quiet, playful, reflective, whatever she needs to be.
My closet isn’t just full of clothes. It’s full of moments I’ve lived, and ones I’m still dressing up for.
