Dear Diary,

Today was a day of obstacles and triumphs, and I’m so proud of myself for what I’ve overcome.

I spent an entire hour this morning picking out an outfit to go to Sidge because I needed to find an undiscovered outfit combination. I know everyone remembers every outfit I wear (who wouldn’t) and so I cannot disappoint the fans by outfit repeating. It took me so long that I was late for my lecture, but I took that as a blessing in disguise because everyone saw my outfit as I walked in. You’re all welcome.

Okay, so maybe I was also late because of the boots I was wearing. Yes they’re heeled, yes they’re point-toed, but it was the final piece of the puzzle. Pairing Docs with my cargoes was too obvious, too easy. And we don’t take things easy here, we struggle and go the difficult path for the best pay-off. I fight for my literal life every single day trying not to collide with a car, or person, a curb, or a tree. And every day I win (for now). Let’s not talk about how often I trip on the cobbled Cambridge streets. It’s part of the aesthetic.

The real nightmare began when I was walking out of the lecture room and two other people were wearing the same trousers as me. Profound regret began to seep in. I should have worn my thrifted low-waisted jeans instead of the Urban Outfitters cargoes. It’s a complicated relationship we have, the cargoes and me. It’s a clandestine affair: I love them but I’m embarrassed about our romance.

I thought I was careful as well! After I bought them I took all the other pairs off the rack and hid them behind the bath mats in the home section upstairs, but I guess the normies found them. Never again. I’m not shopping there again, not after this. Oh yeah, it’s also a fast fashion brand and we’re all about being sustainable queens these days.

I picked myself up, though. I told myself I styled the cargoes better with my top from Depop. That my shoes are more impractical (and hence sexier: fashion isn’t fashion if it’s not masochistic), and that I was one of the first people to use a London Review of Books tote bag. My mantra kept me brave throughout the day: “I’m not like other girls, I’m not like other girls…”

But, after the emotional struggle came the physical one. My stacked bracelets were scraping on my laptop keyboard and making a really unpleasant sound as I started writing my supo essay. The real turmoil began when my fingers started to feel tired from typing with my rings on. My favourite chunky silver rings were really weighing my fingers down, and so I was forced to take them all off. I felt so boring and basic and unlike myself, but I had to do it for my body.

The anxiety of the day really got to me when the greenhouse that the Seeley is started to overheat. My ingeniously layered blazer over my patterned vest was really starting to suffocate me, and I must avoid sweating at all costs or else my blue eyeliner will start running. To die of heat, or to take all my layers off to only have one boring outfit left and hate myself - that is the question. I took my jacket off and put it on the back of the chair, where at least people can see it and know I have good taste. The vest stayed on for my mental health’s sake: my self-esteem couldn’t take the hit of being seen in just a top and a pair of trousers and without my rings.

When I got back to college, I went on Crushbridge just in case. Absolutely no gushing about my outfit, but that’s okay. Nobody ever feels the need to state the obvious. I look in the mirror. I’m exhausted from all my sartorial struggles, but I fulfilled my duties and I love what I do. All in a good day’s work. Yes, the devil wears Prada, and yes the devil works hard, but I work it harder.