The Glittery Dress Saga

I have a branding photoshoot coming up.

This isn't just any photoshoot.

It's for my business.

Speaking.

Writing.

Creating.

The kind of pictures that say,

"Look! I know what I'm doing!"

Whether or not I actually know what I'm doing is beside the point.

I needed outfits.

And that's where everything fell apart.

I've spent most of my life wanting to be...

That Girl.

You know her.

She always looks effortlessly put together.

She somehow knows how to curl her hair without looking like she lost a fight with a curling iron.

She owns perfume that costs more than my first car payment.

She walks confidently in heels.

She can wear white without immediately finding ketchup.

She has "signature jewelry."

Meanwhile...

My signature accessory is chapstick.

I have always wanted to be more...

Girly.

The kind of woman who instinctively knows what blush does.

I still don't.

I OWN blush.

I just don't entirely trust it.

My makeup routine has changed very little since approximately 1993.

Black eyeliner.

Lip gloss.

Hope for the best.

Fashion?

Let's discuss.

I'd love to be one of those women who always looks elegant.

Instead...

My closet mostly says,

"Prepared to assemble furniture at a moment's notice."

Jeans.

T-shirts.

Hoodies.

Sneakers.

Comfort has been winning this argument for decades.

Then there are high heels.

In theory...

I love them.

In reality...

I walk like a baby giraffe that's just been introduced to gravity.

There is nothing graceful happening.

If confidence made noise...

Mine would sound like,

"Whoa...whoa...whoa..."

all the way across the room.

So naturally...

When it came time to choose a dress for my photoshoot...

I ignored every single thing I've ever known about myself.

Because that's what we do.

I found...

The Dress.

It was sparkly.

It was dramatic.

It practically glowed from my computer screen.

I swear it whispered,

"Tracy...look at meeeee.

I'm magical.

I'm glamorous.

I'm the woman you've always wanted to be."

Well.

Who am I to argue with a dress?

I clicked "Buy Now."

Obviously.

Now let's pause here.

Because this is important.

I wasn't buying fabric.

I was buying a fantasy.

I wasn't thinking,

"This is a pretty dress."

I was thinking,

"This dress is finally going to unlock Fabulous Tracy."

You know...

The version of me who somehow knows which fork to use at fancy restaurants.

The woman who floats into rooms instead of accidentally tripping over the welcome mat.

The glamorous author who looks equally comfortable on stage and at brunch.

Apparently...

Amazon sells identities now. Who knew?

The package arrived.

I ripped it open with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.

I held it up.

It shimmered.

It sparkled.

It was everything I'd hoped.

Then...

I put it on.

...

No.

Just...

No.

It wasn't the dress.

The dress was beautiful.

It just wasn't...

Me.

Somehow I'd managed to dress myself like I was attending the Oscars when, in reality, I'd be happiest laughing in Converse.

I stood in front of the mirror and realized something.

I wasn't disappointed because the dress was ugly.

I was disappointed because I was still trying to become someone else.

So I returned it.

Instead...

I found this dress.

Purple.

Soft.

Flowy.

Pretty without trying too hard.

Comfortable enough that I could actually breathe.

The kind of dress that doesn't scream,

"LOOK AT ME!"

It quietly says,

"This feels like home."

Funny enough...

The second I put it on...

I smiled.

Not because I looked like someone else.

Because I looked like...

Me.

I think a lot of us carry around this imaginary woman.

The perfectly organized woman.

The effortlessly fashionable woman.

The woman who meal preps.

Who never forgets birthdays.

Who drinks enough water.

Who doesn't have seventeen tabs open in her browser and six more open in her brain.

We spend years trying to become her.

Buying what she'd buy.

Wearing what she'd wear.

Wondering what she would do.

And somewhere along the way...

We forget to appreciate the woman we've already become.

The truth is...

I'm probably never going to be "That Girl."

I'll probably always choose comfort over couture.

I'll probably always own more hoodies than handbags.

I'll probably always feel more like myself in jeans than stilettos.

And honestly?

I'm okay with that.

Because I've realized something.

Strength has never come from sequins.

Confidence doesn't come from heels.

Purpose isn't stitched into a dress.

The woman wearing the dress is what matters.

So when you see those branding photos...

Don't see someone who finally became glamorous.

See a woman who stopped trying to audition for someone else's role.

A woman who learned that authenticity photographs far better than perfection ever could.

Turns out...

I didn't need a glitter dress to become the woman I wanted to be.

I just needed to stop overlooking the woman I'd already become.

And honestly...

I think she looks pretty amazing in purple.