I am, in my own words, a closet fashionista. I admit it, I love fashion more than I probably should. I find it to be a true art. I could watch runway shows for hours on end. I'm a project runway junkie and I have been reading Vogue and Instyle religiously since I was 12.

You would never guess it from looking at me. Even at this moment I'm sitting at the computer in a pair of ill fitting flared jeans covered in layer upon layer of paint (I go to art school). I've got a plain black t shirt on and a little grey knit half sweater on top of that, something I shoved into my good will grab bag on one of many shop till you drop thrift store trips. The only jewelry I wear is a rusted magnetic bracelet from my father, a handmade beaded rainbow bracelet with my name spelled out in big black letters, a "wedding ring" that my best friend bought for me, and a knotted up piece of hemp tied into a wish bracelet. My hair is greasy blonde and I rarely wear makeup. As I said, you'd never be able to tell from looking at me.

In all honesty, I can't really explain the way I dress. I suppose it's really more of a utilitarian thing. When you wake up every morning knowing you're going to be man handling a lot of heavy materials and greasy paints, it just doesn't seem worth it to get all dressed up. But that doesn't stop me from coming home to my new issue of vogue and curling up to read about the latest trends. It will never stop me from researching new designers online. And once you get me started talking about fashion, don't even try to stop me. It is a huge part of my life, I suppose you could call it a passion.

Some people can pinpoint when a certain thing came into their life. They know life before this great epiphany, and life after. I'm not quite so clear cut. There was no concrete defining moment for me. It just grew into an obsession.  I will never forget one day when I was only four years old when I very calmly and politely discussed with my mother the reasons I should be allowed to dress myself. I told her that I simply had more taste, and knew what things looked good together in a way that she simply didn't. With that speech I was given a sort of independence I will never forget. At that particular point in time it meant leggings, bare feet, and big oversized sweaters. I looked like an eighties sitcom star.....even though it was well into 1994.

After that, things just sort of started coming to me. I flipped channels only to land on a documentary about Vera Wang; The interest grew. I discover that I can go to goodwill and buy lots of clothes for the same price as a few articles at a regular store. I become addicted to the style network and would even wake up at 5 am to watch fashion trance. The nonstop drum beats and hypnotic bass lines accompanied by choreographed light shows and intense models was so captivating. I discover Vogue magazine, the bible. It turned into a huge snowball effect. I loved every minute of it.

But it just seemed that in the grand scheme of things, this just wasn't important. I mean honestly, where am I going to get in life telling people about how I would buy Christian Louboutin peep toe, white pony hair high heels simply to hang them on my wall as art. I slowly discovered that non of my peers really cared that much.

So I placed it all to the side, secretly indulging late at night when nobody was awake to judge me and my Cavalli lust. I became closeted. I'm slowly letting my love creep back out into the world, but only the parts that are ready for it. Perhaps eventually I'll make it to fashion week to write "big girl" articles about the latest trends and my favorite designers. But for now, I have this column.