Every Superhero has an Origin Story

Me, as a young troublemaker (the young lady in the framed photo behind me is my mom wearing the same dress.)

When I was young I actually wore vintage quite a bit.  I used to go around a lot in my mom and grandmother's - and even on occasion - my grandfather's old clothes.  But I got bigger and those items ceased to fit.  I branched out a bit - all black, sarcastic t-shirts, slips as dresses, nightwear as clothes . . .
When I was working in an elementary school in my early 20s I got a bit of a tell off for wearing pink tights and was informed to be careful about what I wear because I could get in trouble.  So for a long while I have to admit I suppressed my more flamboyant fashion urges.
Then I stumbled on some vintage fashion blogs.  I looked with amazement and envy at what some people were wearing everyday.  I couldn't do that.  But then I found some cute things in a thrift store and I gave it a try.  And it changed me.
Only in hindsight do I now realize I had reached the point where Halloween was the only day of the year I truly felt happy with what I was wearing.  My efforts to not offend others were actually messing with my own feelings about myself and even my body.
Now I wear whatever the hell I want and feel much happier.  I also work at an elementary school (not the same one) and get compliments from staff, kids, and parents.  I do tone it down for work but it's not like I pretend to be another person when I do it.

Me, as an older troublemaker.

 "Vintage" I is probably the best descriptor but I wear a lot of self-made, repro, and modern that just happens to look older.  I tend to favor the years around WWII but I like the 20s -60s and I am found of anachronisms as well as dressing as characters - which I know seems counter intuitive to what I said above about dressing as myself but some days I do feel like a certain character.   I admit sometimes I don't get what I aim for - one day I decided on Nancy Drew and got Dorothy Gale comparisons.  Must have been the red shoes . . .