“It’s just a phase.”
Have you ever thrown this casual accusation at yourself?
Maybe you tried being a vegetarian. Suddenly, like Phoebe from Friends, you decided that eating something that once had a face is synonymous to a crime (btw, if you’re on Instagram and you love eating healthy, follow @millenialkitchen – I’m not vegan, but I adore the recipes they feature). Or perhaps you went organic and often posted your latest #detox concoction on Instagram in that unapologetic cliché mason jar. Or maybe you were a frustrated baker and tried to make brownies which would mysteriously come out the oven looking like molten lava cake every time.
Maybe for a time, you used to like watching French Noir films and loved to frequent vintage stores. You even dubbed yourself as an old soul and convinced yourself that you were definitely born in the wrong era.
Maybe you fancied yourself as a collector once. Coins. twigs, dried fall leaves in all of nature’s gradients, the crusted remnants of the sea that have been washed ashore – shells and cones that make you wonder about the beauty that lies in the deep blue: a virgin to human discovery, tucked in secret trenches.
Maybe you used to listen to punk rock music that reminded you of that first boy who gave you the butterflies and made you write poetry in the margins of your notebook. You were on the verge of Gothic and painted your nails black, but it was less of a fashion statement and more of a curdling rebellion.
Is there a dusty guitar, a drum set or some funky bongos in your basement? Probably reminiscent of that time you wanted to become a musician. You probably even had a notebook of unfinished and unsung songs fueled by unrequited love.
Perhaps you once smoked like a chimney, and even promised to go cold turkey for every last cigarette you had – but already on the other side of it was the next withdrawal like it was right on queue. Or you would get so wasted until you could barely remember the idiotic things you did – like swim in a public fountain or drunk call that girl you used to like five years ago. Or maybe you raved until you were in a wonderland in your mind, until the heavy bass became your heartbeat and you’d have glow sticks for breakfast.
Let’s talk about those ripped jeans, high waist bottoms, and those crop tops. Just how many of those do you really need in your closet? And don’t you already have that SAME knit top in that SAME color? (is it obvious that this is me addressing myself? no? well, shoot. I just threw me under the bus then!)
Whether you’ll proudly wear these old habits like badges, or hide them viciously like a pimple on your first date – it was still something that more or less defined who you were at some point.
How about you? What were your phases? Do you look back at them with ease, or do you cringe?