…I say, though I feel insecure.
I like fashion, I think, though you’re just not so sure.
You look so presentable, with glamour and flair.
I’m wearing a tshirt and do I know I have hair?
“I like fashion,” you say, citing trends, naming names.
“Who are they?” I wonder, “Why does anyone care?”
“You need the right top, with that skirt, not too tight.
You know what I mean. Keep it classy, alright?”
“You don’t want to dress like you’re old or too young.
This color goes with that. Are you having fun?”
What I wear is expressive, it tells the story of me.
Can you tell I spent time? Picked out the right tee?
This one says “Free Palestine” another says “Dream”.
I look at the labels to learn where they’re seamed.
“Who made your jacket?” I’ll ask, you’ll reply.
“Oh this? It’s from [insert some designer]’s line.”
Yes, but who made it, and what were they paid?
Would you pay what it’d cost, if they made a living wage?
How ’bout your blue jeans? Would you wear them if
you knew their dyes were toxic? Go on, give us a spin!
The boy with his collar popped, the girl who’s gone goth.
This group or that group? Is it really just cloth?
Break down the boxes! No labels! We’re Done!
At the end of the day, we all want to belong.
“I like fashion,” you say, in your elegant heels.
Wrapped in your rayon scarf – you love how it feels!
You look at me, in my worn out gym shoes.
You’d never guess, I care about fashion too.