Notes on letting go
Of your favorite t-shirt, the jeans that no longer fit, and your own expectations.
I realized I got too attached to things at a very tender age. It started with the Pepe Jeans patchwork capris my then stepfather got me from a re-seller back in elementary school, then, my mom’s black suede Baby Phat heels with the metallic pink sole. They never fit me properly and somehow they still reside in the back of my head.
This happened with intangible things, too. Somehow I’m still stuck on the username my best friend accidentally picked out for me in high school — my online presence was always some variation of my name or the hobby of the moment, but in 2015 I became “The Bold Budget”, and it would be weird to deny that I’ve grown heavily attached to that name as the years have gone by.
The Pepe Jeans capris fit me during the last year of elementary school and some of middle school, but one day they just disappeared. Legend says I’m still searching for the thrill that escaped me the last time I saw them. I have not let them go.
Returning my high school cheerleading uniform felt like turning my back on the girl I fought so hard to become. It was painful. I didn’t realize I could feel so deeply for… clothes?
Maybe clothes aren’t just textiles and silhouettes. Maybe clothes are a portal to another life you don’t get to have wherever you’re standing.
There was this Liz Claiborne utility jacket I loved during my first years of college. I wore it all the time. My friends and acquaintances used to joke about my clothes, about how I would wear the same things over and over… and over again.
The jokes made me feel inadequate, but what was a girl to do with a hostess “salary” and my minimum hourly wage at American Eagle. I had to learn to let go. I loved my clothes regardless of how many times I’d seen them in the mirror that week.
Some things never change. I still own the jacket although it no longer fits like it used to. Some things have to change.
The first time I bought myself an expensive pair of shoes, I did it because I had saved up enough money and I convinced myself I liked Kat Maconie enough to spend upwards of $400 on a designer pair. I no longer own them, shocker. They didn’t serve me anymore. I had to let them go.
From that cheerleading uniform to my first Uniqlo t-shirt I permanently stained with my Makeup Forever foundation, I learned to let go of things I was, at some point, very passionate about.
The funny thing about letting go is that once those things go away, they’re never truly gone. Not for a long while. They linger in the back of your mind, whether that’s the damn capris or your very own name.
Or username.
It’s not fair to speak about letting go without facing the fact that outgrowing is also part of that process. Outgrowing clothes, outgrowing overall styles, outgrowing expectations, and even outgrowing dreams you once had for a person you once were.
I won’t drag this for much longer, this is my official goodbye to “The Bold Budget”. Letting go of one dream and an expectation far too high in favor of another — more aligned with myself and somehow far beyond what I expected.
For now, I welcome Julles Hernández. It’s the same one you know, have known in the past, or will know eventually.
Letting go of the social media presence I have loved for years seems dystopian, but in an odd reality, it feels even more obscure to continue carrying something that no longer serves me.
So here’s to just being my own damn self.
I hope you’re around to enjoy it.