This jubilant story is dedicated to my Style Collective sisters who gave me the push — actually, the virtual slap in the face and bottle of wine — I needed to get over my sorrowful worries and to just keep swimming.
Read this if you’re a blogger that still hasn’t gotten to the success you dreamed of. Is there a part of you ready to give everything you’ve worked so hard for up? If there is still a tiny part of you that wants to give it your all (again) before giving up, then read this.
Picture this: a girl sitting with what looks like to be a severe condition of ADHD. She’s guzzling down coffee, beating the record for infinite hours of Instagram scrolling and unnecessary liking while simultaneously skimming through old vogue issues. Her internet browser has an uncountable number of open tabs to fashion bloggers, Woody Allen films, and beautiful actresses. That would be me. Obsessing over each and every one of those beautiful women, swearing that I needed to be just like her. Fictional or non-fictional, I needed to somehow portray that character as if it was my life being documented. Even as I write these words, my mind is drawn to the wittiness of Annie Hall or the dreaminess of Marion Cotillard in Midnight in Paris.
If I were a lead in a movie, I would be the girl who bought a pair of army pants and flip-flops because Regina George wore army pants and flip-flops.
Pretty girls and influential bloggers will do this to you. Reading and visualizing the lives of enviable bloggers is how I began to blog in the first place. Except, I seemed to get lost in the heat of it all from time to time. I wanted to do be the exception of instant success, knowing it was impossible. Then, I’d give it up blogging all together. And much later, look up to a new blogger to look up to and mimic my life (and blog by). You can call this, my vicious (make-believe) cycle. Giving up everything and jumping back in as if nothing happened; a love-hate relationship with being the person I wasn’t for all to see.
That wasn’t me. It was a made up figment created by the film-inspired imagination of mine. I hated myself for not knowing how to jump out of it. Until one day, I did. I owe all of this to the blogging community I wish I had been a part of from the very beginning, Style Collective.
Counting all the posts I’ve read on always sta “be yourself, you know?” would be impossible. I thought it was stupid. Why the hell wouldn’t I be myself? I write, I play dress up, and people know who I am just as much as I know myself. Well, none of that is true. First and most importantly, your readers don’t know who you are. Also, you aren’t just playing dress up and no, you’re not just writing, you’re telling a story; your story.
This business to blog has become an overwhelming chaos of saturation that sadly leaves a kiddie-sized pool of us lost between the pull of the current that makes it impossible to find even the slightest glimpse of land. Swimming into an ocean-sized feed of beautiful bloggers, perfect flat-lays, and insanely thematic Instagram feeds is fucking intimidating! Indubitably, it can be a tiny bit depressing and it slightly makes you feel like you should be that perfect to be just as successful.
There is one thing I’ve learned from my Style Collective sisters and it’s how important it is to be yourself. You don’t have to be an expert but you need to be passionate. If you share your story, if you swim along the current, you will get to places you never thought you would find. With that said, your followers are here for you and they want to be your friend, They will not only come to you for advice, but they want to feel like they genuinely relate to you. Because honey, your readers are not looking for the next Regina George.
So who am I? I’m a beer drinking fashion addict with a shopping problem. I’m messy writer with pretty fantastic (un)organizational skills.
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