The Truth of Self-Worth and the Mirror

We wear our flaws and turn them into applause, but what happens when the mirror reflects a truth we’d rather not see?

Self-worth. A word stitched into every quote, every affirmation, yet so misunderstood. We say it doesn’t come from the outside, but then why do we still feel better when the fabric falls just right, when colour kisses our skin, when the silhouette says you belong?

Standing naked before the mirror is standing before the truth. No lace, no linen, no label, just flesh and feeling. The clothes we wear become the top layer of our flesh, the cheesecake on the biscuit base, the strawberry that gives the ice cream its delight. They add sweetness, colour, and beauty, but they are not the core. I used to think worth could be worn. I lined up at Greggs for doughnuts, hoping sugar would fill what emptiness had hollowed out. But my stomach was full of nothing that could feed my spirit. My reflection told the story I tried to dress away.

An ex used to constantly tell me I was too slim, too something, never enough. I believed him. I handed him my mirror and let him define what I should see. But the mirror, honest and cruel, showed me the truth: I was already whole, just waiting to believe it.

Now I dress not to hide, but to honour. Every thread, every flaw, every curve, every time my weight fluctuates, it’s still celebrated. Because fashion, at its deepest, isn’t about perfection. It’s about reflection.

We wear our flaws, and in doing so, we turn them into applause.