You Got Nerve!

There’s something quietly radical about wearing something that other people hate. Not because you’re trying to be edgy or subversive, but in the “this just feels right on my skin” kind of way. Like when something doesn’t just fit your body, but your whole self—capturing your essence. I think that’s when fashion is its most intimate. When you’re not dressed to impress, but to reflect. It’s a soft proclamation of knowing oneself.

I’ve always dressed pretty minimally—neutral tones, clean lines, practical shoes, always with an allegiance to my beloved black turtleneck. Minimal, in every sense of the word. I think, partially, that’s simply how I enjoy dressing—how I feel most confident. But I don’t think it has always come from that place.

Growing up, I loved fashion. I’d flip through trashy magazines critiquing “who wore it better,” and eagerly wait for award season so I could watch the red carpet pre-shows. I had a mini mannequin from the dollar store that I used to dress in tiny outfits I made from scraps of fabric and old t-shirts, glued together with hot glue like some amateur Project Runway contestant. I pretended I was designing for Beyoncé’s world tour—even though nobody was hiring a seamster using Elmer’s and $2 fabric squares from Walmart. 

But my love for fashion was always external–directed at other people’s style, not my own. I was fascinated by the spectacle of it all, especially women’s fashion, which felt so much more creative and expressive. The colours, the silhouettes, the drama–I couldn’t get enough. Meanwhile, traditional menswear never spoke to me. I didn’t see any fun or freedom in a suit and tie. I still don’t, to this day.

Because of that, I never really considered fashion as something for me. I admired it from afar, but I wasn’t participating. That changed during winter break in seventh grade—a time as pivotal as it was confusing. Like many boys trying to blend in and pass as straight (unsuccessfully, might I add), I turned to hyper-masculine YouTubers for advice. Back then, accessible fashion guidance for boys was rare, and I was desperate to fit in. With the Christmas cash I got from my grandparents, I remember going to Old Navy and raiding the sales rack, stocking up on all the basics. Did the pieces fit? No. Were they stylish? Also, no. Did I look straight yet? Absolutely not. But it was the first time I remember dressing with intention.

Looking back, that foundation—of style rooted in conformity—has lingered. There’s probably still a part of me that dresses minimally to stay neutral, to avoid being too loud or disruptive. And while I don’t feel the need to change that part of my style, my attitude toward style has shifted dramatically—especially how I view it in others. 

For a long time, I mistook restraint for elegance. Perhaps, as a projection of my own fears and insecurities around fashion. But lately, something’s shifted. I find myself drawn to chaos—clashing prints, absurd silhouettes, jewelry layered like armour, outfits I’d never wear (and might not even like). But I love how it feels so fully reflective of the person wearing it. The audacity some people have to leave the house dressed so unapologetically loud in their own sense of self—that’s style. It’s not about polish or beauty, but authenticity. 

I think of Doechii. Her style radiates range, boldness, brilliance, flair. It never feels manufactured—every look is her. No outfit wears her—she wears it. And if you copied and pasted her look onto someone else, it probably wouldn’t land the same. Because it’s not just about the clothes—it’s about the harmony between soul and style. Her team understands that. They prioritize essence over aesthetics, and that’s where the magic lives. Whether she’s in a preppy Thom Browne look or a boho-chic Chloé ensemble for Paris Fashion Week, it’s unmistakably her. That versatility—that ability to embody a range of looks without losing alignment—that’s true style. That’s a superstar.

Audacity is a look.

So, when did so many of us start dressing for approval instead of alignment?

A couple months ago, I saw a TikTok where someone said the key to success isn’t talent or timing–it’s audacity. The gall to believe you belong somewhere, even if you’re told otherwise. The nerve to put your work and your gift out there. The courage to say this is who I am, even if no one bats an eye. And that stuck with me. Since then, all I’m thinking about is that word—audacity. 

If you pay attention, it’s everywhere. It’s the girl in Kensington wearing a multicoloured wig, go-go boots, lace tights, a mini skirt, three layered tops, and a Hello Kitty purse—walking like she invented sidewalks. It’s Addison Rae posting whatever she wants, fully aware of the mockery—and doing it anyway. It’s Beyoncé releasing a country album the average listener didn’t see coming—and owning it unapologetically, despite the risk.

I don’t know what it was about the idea of audacity that hit me so hard. We’ve been hearing people talk about living authentically and unapologetically for years. So much to the point that it’s become white noise, just another cliche that becomes meaningless as it’s spewed relentlessly. But something about this framing—that the only difference between you and someone with the life you desire is that they had the nerve to bring it to fruition—shifted something in me. You don’t need to be born an heiress or possess some undeniable, once-in-a-generation talent. You just need the nerve. 

The Leap

That realization hit me at a time when I felt completely stuck. I was working a 9-5 that didn’t align with me at all—the industry, the work itself, the people. And even though quitting wasn’t the plan, I realized the most audacious thing I could do was walk away. So I did.

I’ve always been the “everything happens for a reason” guy, trying to find meaning in struggle. I told myself if I just stuck it out for a year, it’d all be worth it. But I couldn’t do it. One month in, I already felt like a dulled-down version of myself I didn’t recognize. And I thought–if I felt this disconnected now, what’s a year going to do to me?

To some, leaving a job after a month might seem dramatic–several people told me to stick it out–“one year is nothing in the grand scheme.” But I couldn’t justify sacrificing even a year of my life to something that made me feel small. So I left. No new job. No backup plan. Just a modest savings account and a nervous system desperate for relief.

And somehow, I felt okay. Not certain, but clear. I knew I did what I needed to do for myself. I wasn’t aligned with that job, so I leaned into my audacity and walked away.

Tailoring Life

Maybe that’s the point: to curate your life like you would a wardrobe—intentionally, practically, playfully. Not fearfully. I had a million reasons to stay, but one reason not to: it didn’t feel right. And this time, I listened. For once, I led with my heart instead of my overthinking mind. It’s a kind of emotional minimalism–the practice of letting go of what makes you feel smaller than you are. When you’re taught to be a hard worker, it’s hard to let go of the pressure to prove yourself and your endurance. But is it worth it? Maybe to some, but I know for sure, it’s not for me. 

I’ve never been one to do something I don’t want to do. An uninteresting date? Dinner with a woe-is-me type of friend? A weekend with ignorant relatives? A two-hour graduation ceremony? Count me out. When we’re young, we’re told we have all the time in the world—but nobody actually knows that to be true. And if it’s not, I’m not interested in spending what I have appeasing others. For me, it’s always been that simple. And I don’t plan on changing my ways anytime soon.

I’m not saying everyone should quit their job and uproot their life—obviously, it’s easier said than done. But in whatever ways we can, I do think we need to stop accepting less than we deserve. Or, even less than we desire. We’re so used to waiting for permission. But the truth is, the world doesn’t reward good behaviour—it rewards boldness. That’s why we remember the names of people who were once mocked. Why some people go viral for being unhinged while others disappear for being polite. Doechii didn’t wait to be invited. She carved her own path with grit and said, watch me. And people did, and now she’s on the world’s biggest stages. 

In my own small ways, I’m trying to do the same–I’m trying to be a Doechii.