An Indian summer, according to American literary critic Van Wyck Brooks, is a phrase that suggests “inconsistency, infertility, and depleted capabilities, a period of seemingly robust strength that is only an imitation of an earlier season of actual strength.” Couple this with a lyric from one of singer Katy Perry’s songs, Thinking of You: “You’re like an Indian summer in the middle of winter.” Together, this metaphorically sums up my feelings as of late, and perhaps my style evolution has been a subconscious reflection of that.
While I am typically drawn to classic silhouettes à la Kate Middleton and Victoria Beckham, I experience occasional bouts of exotic, animalistic femme fatale. During these moments, my fierce leopard prints and imported Indian tunics take center stage. Some may say I have an identity crisis because my taste is largely inconsistent and impossible to pinpoint. But as a colleague once said, I am not what you expect, and I similarly identify myself as “an Indian summer in the middle of winter.” Behind the immediate shock value and in these moments of unexpectedness, I guarantee you will find allure. Here is my Indian summer: