This goes to you, Leandra.
You don’t know me but I know you. I’ve known you for a few years now and I’m pretty sure this relationship has reached its peak. Isn’t it nice we got to skip the “getting to know you” part and dived head first into the stalking? Yeah, I thought so too.
I was a little confused before I met you. There wasn’t a word to explain my unusual and ever-changing wardrobe status. “What the hell are you wearing?”, people would ask. How was I supposed to explain my need to wear a pair of cinderella gloves with a t-shirt and a tutu? Carrie Bradshaw did NOT prepare me for this.
Before you, the dark shadows of anxiety and the inconspicuous spots of hesitation flooded every inch of confidence I had, which sadly, was not very much to begin with. There was no authenticity to hang on to, no slight resemblance to justify the strangeness, and no influence to calm the nerves of inadequately trying to fit into the same audacious demeanors as the “cool” kids did. I tried desperately and endlessly to belong but such place was nowhere to be found. I felt as the old man once did as he waited, wearily, to find his fish until the day it finally came.
And for me, it was not until there was you. You shouted, you screamed, and you really gave it to us. You made the “uncool” acceptable, in fact you filled every corner and every aspect of it with sanguinity and whimsical self-confidence. You’ve torn down the great wall that so eminently protects the fashion industry. You have manufactured a new sense to fashion, a death to personal style, and a triumphant finish to the arrogance and intimidation that walks alongside the industry.
You make us laugh, effortlessly. You have built a halfway home for every inexperienced writer, every unstable millennial, and every unripe stylist. We come to you for your Suessian insight and your eccentric intelligence. Your words stampede over any pessimistic and timorous thought, and as melancholic as Mufasa’s death, they’re left there to feel their slow and painful death.
You, Leandra Medine, give fashion blogging a new genre. You are a different kind of girl and a whole lot of man repelling.
— Every striving writer wandering aimlessly through the fashion industry.