Honey, I Shrunk The Calvin Klein Emma Ellen May 20, 2015 MESSFashion It’s a moment that we all dread; a feeling that we never wish to feel, but it happens and it happened to me. It’s that gut wrenching moment where everything you have worked for, everything you have saved for, just vanishes in the blink of an eye. This is the tale of the shrinking. I know you’re probably sitting there, laughing mockingly at my dramatized ways. But it was from this harrowing moment that I really learnt the importance of my clothes. When I look back, it really all happened in the wink of an eye- I was hanging out the washing, just like the domestic goddess I am and that’s when I saw it. The Calvin Klein. My once slinky, smooth dress felt like cardboard. My once floor length dress, now touched my knees. I stood in shock, not quite knowing how to deal with the situation. Do I cry, do I scream, do I drop to the ground in a hopeless fit? Well you do all those things plus more. I know the importance of my clothes; I know their significance to who I am. I’ve been on a mission to make fashion accessible to everyone; to discover what moves us to make it harder, better, definitely not faster but more importantly stronger. To understand why we value these “everyday items” so much. The truth is our style identity is a representation of who we are. Our moods, ideals and beliefs are reflected in the styles and colours we choose to wear. Miuccia Prada once said ‘maybe they are sad and they wake up and put on something I have made and it makes them feel just a bit better. So, in that sense, fashion is a little help in the life of a person.’ Miuccia Prada, the woman who inspires style. I have used the past few years to develop my style identity. I’ve gone from being the shy teen, overwhelmed in a dressing room still fully dressed, ruffling coat hangers and undoing zips, telling a naïve sales assistant “it’s just not what I am looking for” to wearing something that looks like it’s been pulled from a 1980’s children’s TV and justifying that it’s hipster chic. Then finally to black, black and did I mention black? So as I sat on the bathroom floor in a puddle of tears, desperately trying to pull my dress back into shape, I realised that these clothes were not just clothes, but a part of my sanctuary and a part of me. On that note, I leave with the wise words of care label once told me, ‘Dry Clean Only’.