A Love Letter to Girlhood

As children of the 2000s, we wore baby tees, butterfly clips and ballet flats as we strutted down hallways. In our back pockets, we carried flip phones that opened to a glittery eyeshadow pallet and a glossy mirror we could barely see ourselves in. Today, we mimic our past selves every time we slip on a pair of Mary Janes or tattoo a dainty black bow on our forearm. But we're not dressing like children—we're dressing like memories. Every ribbon we tie in our hair mourns a time when life felt lighter. The relics of our girlhood reminds us of sleepovers, princess films, and wanting to grow up so badly—only to realize we already had.

Fashion has become our time machine—a way to go back to the playground and relive it all. And though there is no real way to return, we still find ourselves searching. We search through thrift store aisles, hoping to stumble upon a bright pink tracksuit with the word Juicy stitched across the back. But what we're really searching for isn't the tracksuit—it's the version of ourselves who wore it. The version that didn't know heartbreak yet. The version that hadn't lost friends she thought would last a lifetime. The version that never compared herself to others. The version that didn't yet understand that childhood doesn't last forever.

As kids, we rummaged through our parents' closets to feel older; as adults we do the same to feel young again. It's a love letter to who we were, and a way of keeping her close. So maybe nostalgia isn't only a longing for the past, but a hope that the girl we used to be still lives somewhere inside us. That she's still playing dress-up, keeping secret diaries and singing into hairbrushes in her bedroom mirror.