An Expensive Therapist

I could hear my heart pounding as I soaked in the scene. As the applause reverberates, the adrenaline propels me to dizzying heights. Styling a fashion show at just 14 years old remains one of my all-time favorite memories- It ignited a spark within me, culminating in a deep passion for the fashion industry. I knew then that fashion would be a transformational force in my life, and I definitely wasn’t wrong.

Growing up in Bangalore, India, I became acutely aware of my body from an early age. I was always on the heavier side, but as a dancer and actor, I never saw that as a limitation. On stage, I was free—my presence was defined by movement, not by how I looked.

That changed in middle school when my interest in fashion grew into a career aspiration. Suddenly, I wasn’t just flipping through Vogue for fun—and as I admired the glossy pages, I also became painfully aware of narrow beauty standards, and realized I didn’t quite fit that mold.

Shopping trips increasingly became about avoiding existential crises in the fitting room and what started as mild self-consciousness quickly spiraled into an unhealthy obsession with weight. I convinced myself that shedding a few (okay, many) pounds would be the magic ticket to fitting in—both literally and figuratively. I lost weight, my reflection changed, but my confidence didn’t return. Worse, in my pursuit of being fashionable enough, I had lost the very thing that drew me to fashion in the first place—self-expression.

For years, I haunted my own Pinterest boards, saving outfit after outfit that I’d never actually wear. I adored them all, but when it came time to get dressed, I defaulted to “safe” choices. Studying fashion in Bangalore should have been my time to experiment, to lean into my personal style. Instead, I played the role of the cautious observer. 

Moving to New York changed everything. Suddenly, I was in a city where people wore whatever they wanted—sequins at 10 a.m., pajamas at brunch, couture on a Tuesday for no reason at all. Nobody cared. And that kind of freedom? It was intoxicating. 

So, in a dramatic act of self-reinvention (or maybe just a really aggressive closet purge), I got rid of nearly 80% of my wardrobe. I sold, donated, and parted ways with years of “safe” choices, determined to rebuild my style from scratch.

To make sure I actually stuck to my newfound freedom, I did something radical: I started buying things that scared me. This shift led me straight into the chaotic world of thrifting. At first, it was just about sustainability (and let’s be honest, affordability—because New York prices are not kind). I stopped trying to fit into a single, polished aesthetic and instead embraced the thrill of experimentation—bold colors, unexpected silhouettes, and layering that sometimes made me look effortlessly cool and other times like I got dressed in the dark (both outcomes were fine).

If you were to ask me to describe my style right now, I’d have a hard time putting it into words. I’m still in the middle of a style experiment. But if you took a peek inside my closet today, you’d see a delightful mess of contradictions—boots that range from chunky platforms to sleek, thigh-high beauties, traditional Indian long skirts to playful mini ruffles, Carrie Bradshaw inspired coats, corsets in every imaginable color and an overwhelming collection of accessories—vintage brooches, inherited bangles, headbands, bows, and quirky earrings that I couldn’t resist, even if they make me look a little bit cuckoo. 

Yet, I’m aware that this is just the beginning. I want to keep pushing myself, taking bolder risks, stepping out of my comfort zone, and embracing new inspirations that might make me question everything I thought I knew. My style will change, and that’s the exciting part, isn’t it?