People seem to think I'm fashionable, so that makes me happy. I've had the spectrum of comments on my appearance from positive to negative, probably like every girl has, so I try to just sit somewhere in the middle.

When I was 21, my favourite getup was a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, and a faded, light blue t-shirt that said Baker Lake on it with a brown stain on the back. I wore black suede Simple sneakers.
That year, I spent 5 weeks in London, England. When my Indian uncle Swapan, who was doing a job stint there, saw me, he was dismayed. I was dressed just like him at the same age, but he failed to see that. Instead he took me shopping to Top Shop on Oxford street and got me some new outfits. One was a blue velvet miniskirt, another a light blue corduroy jacket. :I want you to buy clothing and maybe a jacket that you will be wearing 5 years from now", he said.

I posted a link to my blog on my Facebook page, and a friend of mine commented that she could still remember the day she met me, how I looked put-together and seemed so sure of myself. I can remember that day and what I wore, too, and it made me realize that I have been successfully projecting the image I've been pursuing all along.

Whenever someone says: "Oh, that's so YOU!" about something I'm wearing, I feel absolutely floored. I examine the remark, the speaker, and the article of clothing in question with painful deliberation. Sometimes this is a pleasing exercise, and other times quite deflating. It always feels a little like one of those Greek myths, where the protagonist gets exactly what s/he wants and finds it to be excruciatingly painful. Of course I want to hear how people see me; at the same time, I'd rather pretend they don't see me at all.

sometimes i worry about my weight

A group told me recently that they've always admired my style. That was nice to hear. My boyfriend also told me once that the first time he saw me he thought that I really knew what looked good on me. Also nice. You never know if people actually notice, turns out they do.

When I was a teen I had my makeup done at the mall and the lady showed me how to properly put on eyeliner. She also told me I had great full lips, that was the only time someone said something positive to me about my looks that didn't feel inappropriate and was kind. It has stuck with me since. I love my lips.

A lot of people have told me that my hair looked 'shit' when it was pink, but these aren't people that I think understand that sort of hairstyle, but it does always upset me, because I would never have the audacity to tell someone they look shit. I think a lot of my parents generation does not understand my clothes, but I don't understand this need to judge peoples appearances, seeing as I certainly don't tell them they look 'shit' even when I feel they do.

"Nice rack". Um, thanks, I hang my bra on it.

For while I was really self-conscious about the fact that I have large breasts. First I tried to hide them. Then I tried to showcase them. Then, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I couldn't have cared less about the size of my breasts. All I could think of was how to get my whole self back to normal.

The last time I was street harrassed, a guy walked right up to me and looked directly at my chest and said, "You have beautiful breasts." I said, "Nah, it's a trick. They are jerks. The left one tried to kill me."

When people started telling me I looked older, rather than younger, than I am, it was kind of a big moment for me as far as fashion goals paying off.

In high school, some girls called me “ugly.” I didn’t know them. It hurt my feelings at the time but then after a while I did not mind it because I thought it could be true and what’s wrong with that? I wouldn’t know what to do if they had called me “pretty.”