A fun little thought that loves to pop in right around 1am, just as you’re trying to fall asleep. You’re not actively thinking about it, but your brain’s like: remember that time you wore a green belted sweater dress with leopard print boots to a college house party? Yeah. That.
And if you’re a fellow millennial who once lived, breathed, and fully committed to the early 2000s fashion scene – then you already know. Sometimes the cringe isn’t about what you said. It’s about what you wore. HOW. Who let us out of the house dressed like that? Why were belts over cardigans a thing? Why did we layer necklaces and scarves and tank tops like it was a sport?
But buried in all that chaos? A blueprint. Some early hints of personal style. A few glimmers of taste. And honestly, a whole lot of experimentation that eventually led to who we are now – closet-wise, and maybe a little bit life-wise too. So let’s rewind.
Trying to figure out what I liked wearing… so naturally, I wore everything.
This era was peak “I saw it in a magazine once, so now it’s my entire personality.” A little bit of every trend smashed into one potpourri of nonsense – which, honestly, is the only way to describe fashion in 2008–2009 anyway.
I was working at Joyce Leslie (iconic if you know, chaotic if you don’t), using whatever tiny paycheck I had to shop at Forever 21 and Charlotte Russe. Four tank tops layered together? Groundbreaking. Plastic statement jewelry? A whole movement. Flip flops with sundresses? A national pastime. And then there was the velvet Juicy suit. We don’t talk about her, but we all wore her.
The attempted vibe was very much “model off duty” if the model was off duty, on no budget, and using a digital camera capturing blurry MySpace shots. But still, there was something there – a fearless energy and a need to try everything, which I kind of miss.
Fashion was the Wild West. And I was all in.
This was my “influenced by the 2000s” era – where fashion felt like a Pinterest board of 30 tabs open at once. Giant bags that could double as carry-ons. Chunky sandals that kinda looked like boots…!?. Skinny jeans tucked into boots, topped with floaty tops, topped again with cardigans, scarves, belts… maybe a shrug for good measure.
But somewhere in the middle of this over-styled chaos, I picked up layering. Like actually layering. The kind that would later become one of my signature moves. And this is also where my obsession with blazers was born – and yes, the hot pink blazer? She was that girl. She saw things. She lived a full life.
There were also signs of deeper fashion thinking. Like the idea of making the most out of a garment – I once DIY’d an old pair of jeans into shorts and wore them with tights like I was doing something revolutionary (I wasn’t, it was a total fail, but the intention was there).
The styling didn’t always land, but the curiosity, the effort, the trying – that part started clicking. This was a phase full of experiments and odd combos, but it’s when fashion stopped being about copying trends and started becoming something a little more personal.
Messy? Yes. Meaningful? Also yes.
These years don’t make me cringe… but they definitely make me tilt my head and go “huh.” I was working Fashion Week as a reporter – which meant every outfit had to say something. What that something was? Unclear. But it was loud. Hot pink blazers (again), snake print everything, statement necklaces that could take someone out if I turned too fast. Animal print, neon accessories, studded everything, and belts. So many belts.
This was my statement era. I was throwing fits at the wall to see what stuck. And honestly, some of it kind of did – the confidence, the layering, the commitment. There’s something about being a little unhinged with fashion in your early 20s that I think is necessary. You’ve got to wear the fringe jacket and the six bangles and the leopard scarf over a blazer (with leopard lining, mind you) at least once.
The styling was dramatic. The accessories were heavy. The hair was brunette, then blonde, then brunette again. But deep down, this was the era that taught me how to style a look, not just wear clothes. Even if half the looks were questionable, I was starting to get intentional. And that’s what made this phase worth it.
Ah, the launch of the blog. The birth of Inna Bose™, and also the era of accessories gone wild. This was the time I was experimenting unapologetically – bold colors, statement jewelry, layering on layering on layering. Some of it was fabulous. Some of it was fishnets under distressed jeans. We don’t have to talk about that.
But this era was formative. This is when I really started defining my style vocabulary. I leaned into oversized pieces, fell in love with sneakers paired with dresses (a combo I will defend until I die), and started gravitating toward color in a way that felt intentional, not trend-chasing.
And most meaningfully, this is when Ukrainian fashion elements – like the Vyshyvanka – started weaving their way into my wardrobe. At the time, I didn’t realize how powerful it would feel to walk around Manhattan in something made by Ukrainian hands. But it became a quiet act of pride. Identity. And now looking back, a bit of foreshadowing for where my fashion values were heading.
This era was a little loud, a little chaotic, very fashion blogger-y. But it was also confident. And creative. And kind of fabulous, honestly.
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By around 2020, I’m no longer just getting dressed – I’m making choices. The few pieces I buy today? They pass the test – sustainable, ethical, Ukrainian-made (bonus points for all three). I committed to saying “no” to fast fashion like it was the dress code at the Met Gala.
My closet got quieter – but somehow, louder and packed with stories. Oversized knits. Luxe faux leather. Blazers that don’t need to be belted, boots that say I have opinions. I swapped out the rainbow of trend jewelry for a handful of everyday Mejuri pieces and never looked back. Color still makes an appearance (because obviously) – but only when it means something. We don’t impulse buy anymore – we invest. We rewear. We care.
And style today? Still edgy, still classic, still minimal. But now it comes with receipts – for carbon offsets, recycled fabrics, and UA designers I will name-drop at any given moment. Turns out fashion is more fun when you know who made your clothes – and that they didn’t ruin the planet doing it.
