Growing up, I used to think my father’s 30-year-plus age gap was a disadvantage. I would clown and make fun of his vintage, throwback sense of style, going so far as to say that whatever he thought was fashionable, I needed to wear the exact opposite. The oversized jackets, the classic silhouettes of your uncle’s favorite shoes, the way he would layer pieces that didn’t make sense to me at the time, I didn’t get it. To me, it felt outdated. I used to refer to him as being out of touch with what was in, especially compared to what I was seeing at school, on social media, or what people my age were wearing.
I remember specifically looking at some of his outfits and thinking, there’s no way I’m dressing like that. It just wasn’t my lane. I was more focused on fitting in, keeping things simple, and wearing what everyone else was wearing. His style stood out too much for me, and back then, standing out wasn’t something I was comfortable with.
But as I got older, something started to shift. I can’t even point to one exact moment; it just happened over time. I started paying more attention to how he actually put things together. It wasn’t random like I thought. There was intention behind it. The way he layered, the way he mixed colors, even the way he carried himself in those clothes, it was confident. He wasn’t trying to follow anything. He just wore what felt right to him.
That’s when it really clicked for me.
I started realizing that style isn’t really about trends like I thought it was. It’s more about identity. It’s about how you choose to present yourself without asking for approval. And that’s something my dad had been doing the whole time; I just wasn’t mature enough to see it yet.
Now, when I look at the way I dress, I can see his influence all over it. I’m more open with what I wear. I’m not afraid to try different fits, layer pieces, or step outside of what’s considered normal. I care more about how something feels and what it says about me than whether it’s trending or not. And honestly, that confidence I used to question in him is something I’m starting to carry myself now.
And the crazy part is, the same style I used to joke about is now something I respect.
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t just making fun of his clothes—I didn’t understand them yet. I didn’t understand the freedom in dressing how you want, or the confidence it takes not to follow everybody else. But now I do.
My dad probably doesn’t even know how much he influenced me in that way, but he really did. What I used to laugh at became part of who I am. And if anything, it taught me that sometimes the things you don’t understand at first end up shaping you the most.
