Anxiety, but Make It Fashion

The clenched jaw, the sleepless nights, and the joy that cuts through.

Before we close out Fashion Week, I want to pause and talk about anxiety. I’ve always dealt with it in some form, but this past year has been the worst it’s ever been. Part of that is circumstantial. The last twelve months have been heavy with loss, and at times it has felt like one blow after another. But even accounting for all that, this round of anxiety has been excessive. In the past, stress would knock me around, but I could usually steady myself. Now it feels like my nervous system has no resilience left, which is a hard place to be for a perfectionist like me, who likes to be in control.

Anxiety does not confine itself to thought. It runs through my body and bleeds into daily life—my heart races. I shake. My chest feels tight, and sometimes I struggle to take a full breath. I sigh or exhale sharply because I’ve been holding tension without realizing it. Small triggers send me into hyperventilation. My jaw is locked, my muscles are rigid, and sleep barely happens. I fall asleep late, wake easily, and dream restlessly. I run on exhaustion and caffeine. I can’t concentrate the way I used to. I overthink, overprocess, and overfunction until I burn myself out. I dodge situations that might trigger more anxiety. I force myself through social commitments.

Hypervigilance is the worst of it. My body is tuned to an exaggerated volume. I’m on guard all the time, reading every tone, every expression, every shift in the room. I’m jumpy. Sudden changes send me spiraling. My mind doesn’t power down even in bed, so sleep is fractured. My heart slams in my chest when nothing is happening. Every decision feels high-stakes because I’m constantly scanning for what could go wrong. Fear hums continuously in the background. And then of course, there are the panic attacks, when it all becomes so unbearable that I lose control of my body completely. It is not rational fear; it is physiological.

Anxiety isn’t neutral to context. Specific environments crank the dial even higher. Fashion Week in New York is one of those. But Fashion Week isn’t the problem. New York isn’t either. The problem is me. And for someone who reports on it all breathlessly, I think it’s important I tell you about the complex parts as well as the shiny ones.

Gratitude and struggle can exist together. Access doesn’t erase the cost of staying upright inside a week like this.