Tesla and he wasn’t a Steve—Uwe was a nerdy (but super cool) scientist with an old smelly beamer and a German accent thicker than LA traffic. In middle school, I had fallen in deep with insecurities. After showing up the first day with pink hair and no friends, I decided I wanted to fit in. Popularity became a defining factor and I was convinced that I would be happier if I just dressed like everyone else. I destroyed my parents with pressure to buy me UGGs and Abercrombie, but nothing could hide that I was different and the bullying just got worse. By the end of middle school, the role of the laughing stock in a group of suburban cloned princesses was one I was well familiar with. By the end of high school, I learned that my younger self—the fearless freckly, four-eyed theatre kid rocking dirndles to school—had the right idea. Of course even today, I still get stares in gold velcro sneakers or red leather mary-janes, but is that not the point? To open people’s eyes to something new? I embrace the fact that no one dresses like me, and I’m filled with pride for my heritage instead of embarrassment. Being an outsider isn’t about screaming for attention, it’s about showing the world what they haven’t yet seen. It’s not about wanting people to notice you, but knowing that being happy means being yourself. Self-love was a process—it involved a lot of tears, my mom had to repeatedly convince her little girl that she was good enough, and to ignore the teasing. It made me learn that if I wanted to live free of judgement, I had to surround myself with people who also did not fear judgment. By growing up with European parents who embody individuality, and who encouraged the dirndles and sparkly belts, I inherited the ‘outsider’ badge that I wear proudly everyday.
models: Sophia Meynard and Jessica Phoebe
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