The First Time I Wore Courage

What happens when you put on an outfit that makes you feel like a different version of yourself?

I never thought a piece of clothing could change me. Fashion was always something that existed around me, but never for me. It was in the pages of magazines my sister flipped through, in the way my aunt carefully folded clothes fresh from the laundry, in the excited chatter of my friends discussing their newest outfits. But for me? Clothes were just something I put on before stepping outside, nothing more, nothing less.

As a child, comfort always won. I lived in hand-me-down t-shirts, oversized pajama pants, and flip flops I could run in. I admired beautiful things from afar, but I had no desire to feel beautiful if it meant squeezing my feet into painful shoes or wearing stiff, impractical fabrics. I still remember the day my sister insisted I wear rosy pink ballet flats to church. They pinched my toes, dug into my heels, and made every step a battle. The moment the worship ended, I yanked them off and ran barefoot across the marble floor, relishing the relief. I wanted to look pretty, I truly did, but not enough to endure discomfort and pain. You know the quote, “Beauty is Pain”? Yeah, that was never for me. (Not anymore though, I’ll wear heels if they make me look good now.)

That was how I dressed for years, choosing comfort, avoiding anything that felt too intentional. Beauty was something I observed, not something I participated in. But that changed one ordinary afternoon, two years into university, when my brother handed me a pair of pants.

My mom had sent them from overseas, meant for him. They were too short on him, so he tossed them in my direction and told me to try them. At first glance, they didn’t seem special. Just a pair of slim-fit pants. Not flashy, not bold, not something that demanded attention. The only thing that was special about it was its brand, Prada. I wasn’t expecting anything when I pulled them on. But the moment I did, I felt it.

The difference.

The fabric hugged my legs in a way no other pants ever had. It moved with me, stretching without restriction, fitting in a way that felt intentional. I squatted. Kicked. Stretched. The pants didn’t resist. Unlike the flimsy materials I was used to, the ones that either suffocated or sagged, these held their shape, and in some strange way, they held me together too.

Standing in front of the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I had never cared about how pants fit before. But this was different. I didn’t just look different, I felt different. More put together. More grounded. More…me.

It wasn’t just about the quality or the brand, though it was the first time I had ever worn something that wasn’t from the neighborhood shopping center. It was about the way it made me carry myself. The way I straightened my posture, the way my steps felt more assured. It was as if I had unknowingly stepped into a version of myself I had been waiting to meet.

That was the first time I truly understood that clothing isn’t just fabric stitched together, it’s a form of self-expression, of identity, of confidence. It’s a way we tell the world who we are, even before we speak.

That pair of pants was my turning point. The moment I realized that fashion isn’t just about looking good, it’s about feeling good. Feeling capable. Feeling seen. It was the first time I wore something that gave me courage.

Courage to embrace change. Courage to step outside my comfort zone. Courage to finally see myself, not just as someone who existed in the background, but as someone who was allowed to take up space.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. We all have that one garment, the one that isn’t just fabric and stitching, but something more. A reminder of who we are. A symbol of who we’re becoming.

So tell me, when was the first time you wore something that made you feel completely yourself?