There are infinite ways to say something. Words are just one.
“Sarah, what’s your opinion on this?”
I froze. My friends were deep in conversation, and suddenly all eyes were on me. I had a hundred thoughts running through my head. I was agreeing and disagreeing silently with their opinions, mentally cataloging every angle of the topic. I thought to myself, I could write a whole book on this. Everything good about it, everything wrong with it. But when the conversation paused to hear from me? I had nothing.
I gathered my thoughts for a minute, stalled, and said whatever I could manage. I participated enough that everyone moved on. But I couldn’t stop thinking: if we’d been talking about something else, would I have had more to say?
So I put it to the test. I started paying attention to when I felt most fluent, most alive in conversation. Marketing. Fashion. Business. Wellness. Philosophy. Those topics? I could talk for hours. It was like these topics fit me like a tailored black trousers!
I was relieved to know I have a niche. I realized that I’ll sometimes run out of things to talk about, but I’ll never run out of things to write about. I had discovered my passion for writing. I had discovered my love for fashion, finance, and philosophy.
That uncomfortable conversation with my friends exposed me to a topic I wouldn’t have researched on my own. And while it made me feel inadequate in the moment, it taught me something valuable: I don’t need to be fluent in every conversation. I just need to know my language.
Then I applied this to my wardrobe.
My personal style was classy, but I had only ever played with neutrals. I never experimented just like the conversation I had before, “I agree with…”. I just wasn’t exposed to other ways of styling myself—ways that would make my outfits more interesting, more me.
So I started researching. I began exploring territories I would have been afraid to enter before. Bold colors. Unexpected textures. Statement pieces that didn’t “make sense” with my aesthetic while still being classy.
Now, when I see someone styled in a way that’s completely different from how I’d dress, I don’t dismiss it. I try to understand their point of view. I put myself in their shoes. I ask: What are they expressing through that outfit? What does this say about who they are?
It clicked. Other than writing, fashion is my true way of expression.
Some people speak fluently in conversation—their thoughts pouring out effortlessly, perfectly articulated. That’s not me. I think on paper. I speak through fabric.
And that’s okay.
There are infinite ways to say something. Words are just one. Your wardrobe is another. The way you move through the world, the pieces you choose, the risks you take with your style—that’s all language. That’s all expression.
So if you’re like me—if you freeze when asked for your opinion, if your best thoughts come hours after the conversation ends, if you feel more articulate in your outfit than in your speech—know this: You’re not inarticulate. You’re just speaking a different language.
Find your fit. Own it. Whether it’s writing, fashion, art, movement, or silence itself. That’s. Your. Voice.
No matter when you start, just start. Express yourself into the treasure you are.
