little liz and the 70’s-era sound system

Me in 1998: “These Boots Were Made for Walkin’”

My feet landed like thunderclaps on the stage, clomps and booms echoing off the walls and ceiling of the crowded auditorium. My breathing was audible, my lip trembled as I tried to remember the steps to my lyrical solo without my song to guide me.

It was 1998, and I had been abruptly abandoned by a malfunctioning sound system. I was now completely alone, dancing on a silent stage. Palpable, suffocating pity filled the musty, wood-paneled room.

Why am I telling you this?

My decades-old dance recital trauma, while actually a moment I look back on with great admiration for little Liz, may not seem super relevant to clothes or personal style. Stick with me.

If you’ve ever been on a stage with a spotlight on your face, you know that in that moment, you are the only visible object in the entire room. You’re very aware of your body. It’s disorienting. Your other senses are heightened, and you can FEEL the eyes on you like sticky fingers. Your hands start to sweat, you feel like you’re losing your balance.

But then, the music comes on.

Me (right) in 2002 at the All-Star Nationals Competition in Orlando, FL

Me (center) in 2005 in a high school production performing a number from “Hairspray”

Music once was to me what clothing and style are to me now. Dancing, singing, and performing in musicals was my way of moving through the world as a young person.

When the music comes on, the rest is easy. No one else matters, no one else exists, really. You’re there for the experience of it all, and you just ride the music. You are able to be fully present. Your gifts and talents are able to spill out generously.

Have you ever shown up to an event in clothes you hate? Or, had your photo taken in an outfit that made you want to crawl into bed and disappear? Have you simply not gone, because you had nothing to wear?

You were dancing without music, my friend.

A self-sufficient wardrobe is like the music coming on. Great style is like a well-practiced song, it makes the audience disappear. It’s just you, there for the experience, riding your outfit like a steady beat. Fully present for a moment that is meant for you. Your gifts and talents overflowing with ease.

Great style is not a luxury or a frivolity. It’s the music you dance to.

I finished my entire 3-minute and 47-second routine the day the music stopped. The audience, bless them, jumped to their feet in applause and I ran into the wings, crying big embarrassed tears. The effort of what I had just done suddenly overwhelmed me with exhaustion, and, like the dramatic theater kid I was, I collapsed onto the gritty backstage floor.

Maybe you’ve felt what I felt that day. Your clothes leaving you high and dry, having to grit your teeth, digging deep just to get through each moment.

The show must go on, my friends! Let me turn the music up for you.

Rise Styling 1:1 is enrolling now, and I want you there!