I think I’ve figured out the reason why, for all my love of pretty things and for all my care of aesthetics, I’ve never been able to fully get into what I would consider “high” fashion.

I’ve written before about how I think much of the disdain directed at fashion is unwarranted. Fashion is, at its core, a form of self-expression, and I don’t begrudge anyone the choice to spend money on something that makes them feel at home with their identity.

But my identity is shaped by the drive to do things. Anything. I feel most like myself when I’m putting out fires or cycling through seventeen windows to formulate a blog post or running around directing a legion of minions to do my bidding. I can’t run around in heels. I can’t immerse myself in code when I’m wearing a blazer or a jacket, because the presence of that piece of clothing is noticeable against my arms in the way it pulls when I’m typing.

Fashion isn’t often designed for motion; it’s mostly designed for display. Even a beautiful bespoke 3-piece-suit has to be adjusted when you sit down, lest the buttons do something weird when your body folds itself. Pieces of clothing are molded to a particular form, but that form changes in a way that pieces of clothing can’t quite keep up with.

I’m not designed for display. Don’t get me wrong: I like looking good. I like buying clothes that I don’t have the money for and I like the comments I get from The Boyfriend when I put on a nice dress. I love putting on a sharp suit for a presentation and feeling like I own the room. (And it’s taken me a long time to come to a point where I no longer feel like I’m being anti-feminist for even caring a little about how I look.) But fundamentally, I’m designed for action…or maybe better, motion. Fashion, for better or worse, gets in the way of that.

I think one of the reasons I prefer fall as a season is because I can look nice while still getting away with practical shoes. I tried the boots thing. I walked well in them and I liked the way they sounded, but I was a little slower than I would’ve been, a little less willing to scale three flights of stairs on a whim. Flats? I’ve yet to find a pair that that I could run in. But that doesn’t matter in the fall, because I can wear Converse with jeans and a nice top and still look put together.

(I can’t get away with that in the summer. The last time I wore Converse with a skirt I got ridiculed. Not that this stops me, mind you, but I’m aware that it’s Frowned Upon.)

I don’t think this is an excuse to be sloppy, for what it’s worth. Professionalism matters, and part of professionalism lies in cleanliness and neatness. It’s fine to not care about fashion, but it’s not fine to show up to a client meeting in tattered jeans and a T-shirt so old you’ve worn holes into the hem. That’s not deprioritizing fashion, that’s just laziness.

Not caring fashion, furthermore, doesn’t mean not caring about style. There are definitely clothes I would never be caught dead in (cf: much of mainstream fashion targeted at my demographic). My style just happens to emphasize a free range of motion over being perfectly assembled. This manifests itself in my accessorizing choices as well. Earrings? Fine. Bracelets? They get in the way of typing: out.

I don’t think this particular aesthetic of mine something that’s going to change anytime soon, but I’m starting to be come to terms with the fact that I will never be the type of girl featured in Lucky Magazine. And that’s okay, too.