In the summer of 2010, I was a naïve kid fresh out of Catholic middle school awaiting my entry into teen-dom. My journey towards adolescence brought out my strong lack of self-confidence and hence, melodrama towards starting high school. However, I always did feel confident about my sense of style. Even though I had spent nine years of private school trapped in a hopelessly un-glamourous plaid skort (a “classy” combination of a skirt and shorts) and polo shirt uniform that was so drab it would probably make the designer Betsey Johnson cry, I was eager to tackle a full time stylish high school wardrobe.

Fashion was — and still is — the one constant creative outlet in my life. While most of my friends worried about the impending stress of high school grades, I was most obsessed by the task of picking out the ultimate outfit for the first day of freshman year. Questions like “What is every one else going to wear? Is a dress too formal? Do platform heels make the wrong impression?” popped into my head during the final countdown before I would work the hallway catwalk. After countless expeditions to stores ranging from Forever 21 to Urban Outfitters to local thrift shops, I felt I had put together the perfect back-to-school wardrobe. I dressed to impress as I confidently strutted into the uncertain, even scary world of high school, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly like a fish out of water in my collared shirtdress, boyfriend cardigan, and Marc Jacobs-inspired topknot bun among a sea of others who sported Vans and American Apparel hoodies. I imagined judgmental mindsets radiating from my conformist peers. The next day, after receiving mixed looks from people in the halls, I wasn’t so sure of my choice in pairing a slouchy v-neck with my thrifted Jeffrey Campbell platform wedges, topping it off with fake tortoise-rim glasses.

Self-expression wasn’t so welcome anymore. I decided to settle for a more basic way of dressing that allowed me to go unnoticed. The shyness towards my style impulses slid me into teenage angst similar to that of a character in a John Hughes movie. Thoughts like “No one understands me!” raced through my brain — could I have been more cliché?!

Sadly, just at a time when my pubescent awkwardness already made me feel badly about my appearance, fashion had become a cause for criticism, rather than a celebration. My wardrobe suffered a split-personality disorder. I decided to deem one double armful of my apparel as “weekend clothes” — edgier outfits saved for outings with friends. But what a waste! The sheer maxi skirt I had recently bought was shoved way back into the depths my closet because of its lack of “practicality” at school and my proud purchase of ten-dollar Urban Outfitter heels was left untouched. I spent many nights escaping the monotonously-dressed Lowell by scrolling through style blogs and flipping through the glossy pages of Vogue editorials sighing, “I could never dress like her!”

But after a tedious day at school, as I scrolled through the fashion blog of Tavi, a fifteen-year-old fashionista who found fame with her blog, a realization came to me — why couldn’t I be bold? Wear whatever I wanted to? What an epiphany –– worrying about the judgment of other people was a choice that I myself had made. That night, it occurred to me that one reason for my lack of self-confidence stemmed from the fact that I was settling for less than my personal style. I decided that feeling special in a unique outfit I had proudly devised was more important than the approval of my peers.

Now a year older, I’m learning to freely embrace a love for high-waisted shorts, trouser pants, and my growing collection of sheer button up shirts. I even wear skirts so often that my friends consider it a special occasion whenever I choose to wear an average pair of blue jeans to school. I realize that feeling confident in my style choices outweighs the criticism that I still might receive from my fellow Lowellites about how I dress. Although I may not be gutsy –– or carnivorous –– enough to don a Lady Gaga meat dress, I’ve never been so comfortable being in my own skin.

A version of this article first appeared in the Jan. 27, 2012 print edition of The Lowell.