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Breakthrough Style: Transforming Fashion into a Celebration of Culture
How I turned my wardrobe into a powerful celebration of Latinidad and personal empowerment
Fashion has always been complicated for me. As a Latina, it's more just clothes. It's tied to identity, culture, and the journey of figuring out where I belong.
My relationship with fashion hasn't been a seamless one. Instead, it's been messy, full of insecurities, and, at times, a reflection of my attempts to fit into spaces where I wasn't sure I was welcome.
As I've grown and matured, I've come to understand that fashion is more than just the clothes we wear or the latest trends. It's a reflection of our inner selves, a way to express how we see ourselves and how we want to be seen by others. It can also serve as a shield, hiding our vulnerabilities and insecurities.
For me, my wardrobe has been a journey of growth — a tangible representation of my struggles, self-discovery, and ultimate empowerment. Fashion has become a powerful tool for me to reclaim my cultural identity and boldly embrace my Latina heritage.
Each piece tells a story, a chapter in my life filled with strength, resilience, and pride.
Breaking Free of Using Fashion as a Shield
Growing up in the 90s, I was surrounded by fashion trends that now make me cringe, but at the time, they felt like the only roadmap to fitting in. The 'heroin chic' aesthetic dominated. A look defined by stick-thin frames, pale complexions, and a kind of detached coolness I could never embody.
As a Dominicana with curves, I knew I would never fit into that ideal. My body was a far cry from what the magazines celebrated.
Instead of embracing the beauty of my curves, I felt trapped by them. I never saw bodies like mine celebrated in mainstream media, and I struggled to love what I saw in the mirror. Fashion became a way to cover my insecurities.
I didn't use clothes to express myself or celebrate who I was. Instead, I used them to hide. Each outfit was carefully chosen to blend in, to avoid standing out, and to protect myself from judgment. In doing so, I buried not just my insecurities but also my authentic self.
Inheriting Boldness: A Legacy of Style
My mother has always been a force of nature. She carried herself with the bold, unapologetic style of a true Dominicana, her confidence woven into every stitch of her wardrobe.
As a young woman, she worked in the House of Oscar de la Renta, and though her time there was brief, it left an indelible mark on her. Even today, her outfits tell a story of vibrant colors, flowing fabrics, and a flair that refuses to be ignored. Her Latinidad shines through, no matter what.
In contrast, my wardrobe told a very different story.
While my mom embraced our culture, I spent most of my life trying to blend in. Growing up in an interracial family in the South, survival often meant assimilation.
My parents' marriage was already a challenge to the status quo in the 80s, and my father's family never fully accepted it — or us. That rejection taught me early on that being different came with consequences.
To navigate those waters, I chose clothing that would let me fade into the background rather than stand out. Neutral tones and modest silhouettes from places like Banana Republic didn't draw attention. It became my armor.
My mother never let go of her Latinidad, no matter the pressures to conform, and I admired her for it. But I couldn't bring myself to do the same. For me, clothing wasn't a celebration of identity, it was a tool to survive, to assimilate, to avoid rejection. While my mother's wardrobe was a declaration of pride, mine was a silent plea for acceptance.
The Hidden Cost of Conformity
As I stepped into the culture of corporate America, I quickly learned that conformity wasn't just encouraged, it was essential.
My wardrobe transformed into a meticulously curated collection of muted tones and structured blazers, with simple ensembles that exuded an air of professionalism while concealing any trace of my true self.
The clothes shielding me from standing out in a sea of white men who didn't understand or share my culture and experiences.
My Dominican heritage, my curves, my vibrant personality (most of the time). All of it remained hidden behind this "whitewashed" facade, as if it didn't belong in the corporate world. But deep down, I knew that sacrificing my identity was a small price to pay for success in this cutthroat environment.
Sometimes, who you are slips out, even when you're trying to hide it.
I'll never forget a work trip to Barcelona where I found myself sitting at a table full of executives. They struggled to communicate with the wait staff, fumbling over basic phrases, while I sat there, watching in frustration. Finally, I stepped in, ordering for the entire table in Spanish. The wait staff's relief was palpable, but the shock on my coworkers' faces was even more striking. "I had no idea…" one of them said, as if I had been keeping a secret.
In truth, I had.
For years, I carefully curated my image to be "white enough". But the weight of constantly hiding my Latinidad, of erasing parts of myself to fit in, took a heavy toll on my emotional well-being.
Each time I suppressed my culture and identity, it felt like losing a vital part of myself. Despite trying to convince myself that it was just clothing, deep down I knew it was more than that. It was sacrificing my authenticity and heritage for the sake of acceptance from people who never truly saw me.
Confessions of a Black Wardrobe
My closet is a sea of beautiful black. Tight-fitting dresses, smart dark blouses, and dark academia structured pants. Inspired by my love for Morticia and Wednesday Addams (a Latina too) and the unapologetic edge of Christina Aguilera in her "Stripped" era.
There's something comforting about black. It's classic, mysterious, and effortless. Over time, this aesthetic became my signature, a reflection of the witchy, moody vibe I've always admired. But there was always something missing. My all-black wardrobe doesn't tell my full story.
As I've connected more deeply with my cultura, I've struggled to reconcile my love for dark, dramatic fashion with the vibrancy of my Latinidad.
Where were the bold colors, the intricate patterns, the rich textures that reflect the spirit of my ancestors? My Taino roots, my African heritage, and the rhythm of the Dominican Republic. Their stories felt absent when I looked in the mirror.
I began to feel a pull to balance these two sides of myself.
I wanted my wardrobe to carry the strength and pride of my Taino and African ancestors, to embody the resilience and beauty they passed down to me. Fashion, I realized, isn't just about what looks good — it's about what feels true. I was ready to start building a wardrobe that embraced both my personal style and my heritage.
Rediscovering My Roots Through Community
Rediscovering my Latinidad has been an ongoing journey, and like most transformative experiences, it began with a conversation.
I met Carolina, the founder of Descalza, a fashion brand rooted in culture and community, and we instantly connected. Carolina's passion for creating clothes that tell the stories of Latin America resonated deeply with me. She wasn't just designing clothes; she was weaving identity, pride, and resilience into every piece.
As I talked to other Latinas in Tech, and realized I wasn't alone in my experience of whitewashing my wardrobe to fit in.
So many Latinas were feeling the same pressure — to tone down our vibrancy, to make ourselves more palatable in corporate spaces, to blend in just enough to be accepted. But like me, they were tired of it.
There was a growing desire to reclaim our cultural identity and to reflect it not just in words or actions, but in how we showed up every day.
I realized that we could bring Carolina's vision to the wider community. We joined forces and organized a Descalza workshop with the goal of creating a professional wardrobe that incorporated elements of our Latine culture.
It wasn't about abandoning professionalism, but rather redefining it to include our heritage.
The workshop was incredibly popular, bringing together individuals who, like me, were tired of conforming to societal norms and were ready to let their cultura shine in their daily lives. Seeing others proudly embrace their roots and infuse them into their fashion choices was a powerful reminder that clothing is more than just fabric — it's an expression of our unique identities.
A Fashion Transformation
A few months later I found myself staring at my own closet, still feeling stuck. While I had encouraged others to embrace their cultura through fashion, I still wasn't sure how to do it for myself.
My wardrobe of black dresses and neutral staples felt safe, but it didn't feel me. At least, not the me I was trying to grow into. So, I did something I'd never done before: I called Carolina and asked for help.
Carolina showed up and together we went through my closet. Piece by piece she showed me how to incorporate colors and patterns that celebrated my roots without abandoning my personal style.
It wasn't about a complete overhaul — it was about building a bridge between who I was and who I wanted to be.
She gave me tips and emphasized that the key wasn't to mimic someone else's style but to curate looks that made me feel confident and powerful.
By the end of the session, my closet wasn't just a collection of clothes, it was a reflection of my identity.
I had a few new pieces, yes, but more importantly, I had a renewed excitement for upcoming events and conferences. For the first time in years, I felt like the image in the mirror was someone I wanted the world to see: a Dominicana who is proud of her culture, unapologetically herself, and ready to take on any room she walked into.
Fashion is more than just a fleeting trend or surface-level appearance. It is a mirror that reflects our inner selves and the transformation we undergo as individuals.
For me, it has been a journey of shedding insecurities and embracing my roots, leading to the discovery of the empowering act of authenticity. My wardrobe has evolved right alongside me, progressing from a protective shield of neutral clothing to a vibrant celebration of my cultural heritage and unique individuality.
This evolution wouldn't have been possible without the support of my community. Connecting with others who share your culture and values can be a transformative experience, especially when it comes to something as personal as fashion.
It was through conversations, workshops and moments of reflection on my own history that I found the courage to embrace my Latinidad fully, even in spaces that once felt unwelcoming.
So, if you're feeling stuck when you look at your closet, or if your wardrobe doesn't reflect the person you see yourself becoming, don't despair. Reach out to your community, connect with your cultural roots, and use fashion as a tool.
Small businesses like Descalza are doing incredible work to preserve and celebrate our cultura through clothing. Supporting organizations like this means investing in more than just a garment. It means investing in a story, in tradition, and in yourself. Fashion is personal, and it's powerful. Use it to tell your story.
Transforming Identity Through Style
Fashion has been a surprising ally in my journey to embrace my authentic self and my cultural identity. What once felt like a burden (a tool for hiding and conforming) has become a way to celebrate who I truly am.
Through the colors, patterns, and stories woven into my wardrobe, I've found a way to honor my roots, a shared diaspora, and show up in the world unapologetically as a proud Dominicana.
Fashion isn't just about what we wear; it's about how we carry ourselves, how we connect with our past, and how we step into our future. It's a tool for empowerment, a canvas for cultural pride, and a reminder that we don't have to hide who we are to fit into spaces.
We have the power to redefine those spaces and to lead with our truest selves. One outfit, one step, and one bold choice at a time.
English (US) ·