Last week, we traced the soft shimmer of 18k gold-plated jewellery and the rise of demi-fine elegance. With gold prices soaring, style didn’t vanish; it adapted. From copper plating to influencer stacks, we decoded how affordability became the new aesthetic.
Read the full post here.
This story’s part of a bigger conversation, and you’re invited to all of it.
I’ve been quiet.
Not because I had nothing to say (I always have something to say), but because I wasn’t sure how to say it anymore.
I started this page with a lot of energy. Four posts in, and I felt like I was building something, slow but steady. Then suddenly, silence. Not from the world, but from me.
I just... paused.
And if I’m being honest, I think I let the numbers get to me: the stats, the likes, the lack of them. I told myself I was fine, that I didn’t need validation, but maybe I did.
Or maybe I just needed a connection, a sign that what I was saying was reaching someone.
So I wrote a note. Not a newsletter. Just… a note.
A small moment of honesty about feeling low, feeling invisible, feeling unsure if this was going anywhere at all.
I didn’t expect much.
But then the replies came in.
Quiet, thoughtful, kind.
People saying they understood. People saying they were here.
That little moment made something inside me shift like I was being seen again, just when I needed it most.
Because connection doesn’t come easily.
It doesn’t just fall into your lap when you hit “publish.” It’s built like any relationship with honesty, time, and the courage to be seen. Not just for your thoughts, but for your story.
So maybe it’s time I tell you mine.
I was born in India, but I grew up in China. I moved there when I was just three months old.
I spent seven years watching a culture that dressed, moved, and expressed itself so differently from where I came from.
Even at that age, I noticed how clothing told stories.
How it marked power, place, and identity.
My school principal didn’t dress like the gardener.
And somehow, I understood that:
Fashion wasn’t just about beauty, it was about belonging.
I wasn’t drawn to fashion.
I was born with it stitched into me.
I used to fill notebooks with figure sketches in the third grade.
My best friend and I had this game where we’d design entire collections with markers, scrap paper and glue.
I used to save my pocket money just to buy those “Design Your Dream Dress” books, the ones you colour in or peel stickers off from.
I had this one toy that let you mix and match outfits and trace them. I lived on that.
It wasn’t a hobby.
It felt like muscle memory.
I used to write stories, poems, and school magazine pieces.
I was that kid who always had something to say and some notebook to say it in.
But people didn’t call it “fashion.” They called it “art.” They called it “being creative.“
They told me I was good at drawing. That I should keep it as a side interest.
The word fashion was too loud. Too risky. Too uncertain.
Something pretty to admire, not to pursue.
So I muted it.
I was still preparing for NIFT in 12th grade, sketching, making models, and solving entrance papers.
But insecurity crept in.
My parents never said no to the idea of me pursuing fashion, but they were never sure.
And their silence echoed in me.
What if I don’t get in?
What if I fail?
What if I disappoint everyone who thinks I’m meant for something “safer”?
I chickened out.
To this day, I have my NIFT prep books stacked in my drawer, unopened.
And every time I see them, I feel like I’ve failed the third-grade version of me.
The one who believed so fiercely, who never doubted.
The one who saved up her own money for sticker books and sketch pads.
The one who saw herself doing something big, bright, and brave.
The one who would probably ask me now, “Why did you give up?”
And I don’t always have the answer.
But I also feel like I’m starting to find my way back to her.
I chose business administration.
And no, it wasn’t the safest choice.
I think I picked it because a small part of me still hopes to build something of my own one day.
Maybe a brand. Maybe a studio.
Maybe a space where fashion meets finance without apology.
Because that’s where I live now, between two F-words:
Fashion (my passion) and Finance (my profession).
That’s where The Fashion Statement came from.
It took me a while to get here.
Especially after I read this quote by Brianna Wiest:
Passion tells you that you should go after what you most want in life, but it’s never about “what you want”, it’s about what you want most.
In the pandemic, I started a Pinterest account about study tips.
It now has about 20,000 followers.
That taught me something:
The internet can feel like home if you make it yours.
So when I graduated and took this six-month break before starting my job, I decided to try again.
To build something from scratch.
But not on Instagram, where everyone from my real life could watch.
I didn’t want followers out of obligation.
I wanted readers out of resonance.
Substack felt right.
It felt quiet.
And I needed that.
I posted my first two blogs with no expectations. Just hope.
Then one like. One comment. Two subscribers.
And it was enough to keep me going.
Until it wasn’t.
Until I got too inside my head.
Until I felt small again.
Until I told myself maybe it didn’t matter.
But I still checked. I still opened the app. I still read every message.
I wondered if it was silly to care so much about something so small.
I wondered if anyone was reading.
I wondered if I was pouring words into a vacuum.
But then that note and the replies reminded me of something important:
Silence doesn’t always mean absence. Sometimes people are just watching, quietly. Waiting to feel safe enough to say, “Me too.”
And I want to build that kind of space.
I don’t want this page to just be a blog.
I want it to grow into a community of people who love fashion, who think in spreadsheets, who care about aesthetics but also economics.
I want to write for the people who feel torn between what they love and what they choose.
The ones trying to balance it. Blend it. Or just breathe through it.
I want The Fashion Statement to be that in-between space
Where style meets substance.
Where what you wear and what you earn can be part of the same sentence.
Where curiosity counts more than credentials.
Where you can learn something, feel something, and maybe find a little bit of yourself.
This post is me re-entering the room.
Not as a writer with a plan,
But as a girl with a past,
a passion,
and a lot to figure out
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New threads drop every other day. Notes in between. And always, something worth unfolding.
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