The Yellow Dress

No, the title isn’t clickbait. It’s literally a story about the yellow dress and the lessons its stains taught me about opinions.

Now having opinions is a marvelous thing. It means you read and observe and perceive things a certain way and are not afraid to express it. However, asking for opinions isn’t always an equally fruitful experience.

This is an incident set in the era of Instagram and open doors. Of 280 characters on Twitter and a phone in each hand. Being a child deprived of wearing dresses most of her life and a young adult refusing to acknowledge her feminine side, wearing a dress had a certain appeal. So here I was in my early 20s, trying this flowy yellow dress with puffy sleeves and a delicate belt, knowing that this is exactly how princesses in those castles I read about must have felt. I did a twirl in the dim-lit dressing room and the inner child in me squealed. This was THE DRESS. However, the adult in me saw the price tag and then my back balance and in all humility placed the dress back on the rack. But I left with a promise to return for this treasure during sale season.

However, keeping up with Gen-Z traditions to take a photo in the trial room or the dress didn’t look as good as it felt. I clicked several photos, which now rested safely in my gallery. Giving me a sense of ownership over something I no longer possessed. But the photos were evidence of how that dress made me feel and so to give my brain an extra release of serotonin, I went a step further and shared it with my friends. Explicitly and unknowing of the consequences, asking for their opinion on the dress.

“ Doesn’t suit your body type”
“ Not a color you can wear often”
“ Doesn’t give of you vibes”
“Take it but not worth the price”

Yes, there were some positive comments too, ones that said I looked pretty and perfect. However, when do we ever let the good opinions get the better of us. And so Splat.Splat.Splat. my pristine princess dress suddenly seemed painted with stains. Stains of opinions, ones I had willingly fished out. So there went the idea of owning the dress, suppressed deep down just beside my inability to do math or play sports. All held down there under the weight of other people’s opinions.
Yes, I had made the mistake of befriending some exceptionally honest people and yes I was thankful for them. Yes, their opinions mattered but did I require it for every small thing.

Given the accessibility we have to each other nowadays, we have developed the habit to ask for opinions on every small thing or we end up second-guessing ourselves. We very well know what we want, however, a second opinion seems to be the only right way to go. It could be a dress or a food order. We do end up confirming whether the world, our world, thinks it’s right or we do not proceed. Our addiction to likes and approval has breached all boundaries and taken an astonishing level of control of over our brains. While we wait for other people’s say on how our daily life functions, we continue to disrespect and undermine the opinion of the one person that matters the most, ourselves. And more often than not we consider these opinions as facts and thus unknowingly and slowly change the way we conduct ourselves. The life we live becomes a story written by 10 writers and we end up becoming the sidekick in our story. Something about too many cooks….

I have always been torn about whether knowing ourselves well will result in us making more informed decisions or will we end up being plagued with some knowledge I can’t possibly handle. However, I would choose the former always and try in knowing and then make my choices. At the end of the day, if things do go sound, I will take comfort in knowing I can blame only myself. And therefore, gladly ask for a shoulder to cry on and a warm hug, as I will not resent the people around me but look at them as a safety net until I can start trusting myself again.

So, as I began this journey of self-healing and taking my power back for myself. Trusting my gut and my heart. I beg of you, order that pizza without asking someone how to address your hunger pang. You already know and the more you do this the better intune will you be with your mind, instead of outside noise. Therefore, writers, cooks or whatever analogy works for you, take charge of your narrative before someone else decides to have their ‘main character’ moment in your story.