In regards to being a fashion aficionado, there's a certain

The musician and visionary St. Vincent—a creator whose art blurs the line between sound, image, and identity—once said: “In regards to being a fashion aficionado, there's a certain amount of taking yourself seriously in the professional world. The self-effacing person can't completely go down the serious road. But I design, and love when things are beautiful.” Within these words lies a meditation on balance—between humility and self-expression, between playfulness and purpose, between the soul’s quiet laughter and its fierce pursuit of beauty. Her statement is not merely about clothing or aesthetics, but about the art of being: how one must sometimes step forward with conviction, yet never lose the grace of self-awareness.

When she speaks of “taking yourself seriously,” she touches on a truth that all creators must face. To build anything—whether a song, a garment, or a life—one must first believe that the act of creation matters. There is a sacred gravity in committing to beauty, a discipline that demands attention and intention. To be a “fashion aficionado,” or indeed a lover of any art, is to take joy seriously—to treat the making of beauty not as vanity, but as a calling. Yet St. Vincent, wise in the paradox of artistry, tempers this with humility. The “self-effacing person,” she says, cannot walk too far down the serious road—for the soul that loses its humor, its playfulness, forgets that all art, even the most profound, is born from wonder.

The origin of her thought lies in her dual identity: musician and designer, performer and philosopher. St. Vincent, known for her sculptural guitars and avant-garde stage presence, has long understood that fashion is not mere adornment—it is expression in form. In creating her own designs, she has learned that to craft beauty is to make choices with courage. One must dare to say, “This is who I am.” Yet, as she reminds us, to take oneself too seriously risks turning art into ego. Her quote, therefore, is a gentle warning: that true artistry lives between confidence and humility, between the courage to declare and the wisdom to laugh at oneself.

This delicate balance has echoed through history. Consider Coco Chanel, who transformed women’s fashion by rejecting corsets and constriction, daring to design for freedom rather than decorum. She took herself seriously enough to change the world—but not so seriously that she forgot joy. Or think of Oscar Wilde, who wore beauty as armor and satire as sword, proclaiming that life itself should be art. He too understood that to love beauty is not to escape the world, but to reveal it more deeply. Like St. Vincent, these creators walked the narrow bridge between reverence and irreverence—between divine purpose and human play.

At its heart, St. Vincent’s quote celebrates beauty as a form of devotion. When she says, “I design, and love when things are beautiful,” she is speaking of love as an act of attention. To design anything—be it a melody, a dress, or a moment—is to say, I care enough to shape this world into something luminous. Beauty, in her view, is not frivolous; it is spiritual. It uplifts, clarifies, and reminds us that amidst chaos, there can still be order, grace, and light. The ancient Greeks believed the same—calling beauty, kalos, one of the highest expressions of truth. For them, as for St. Vincent, to love beauty is to love life itself.

Her reflection also contains a lesson in authenticity. In a world obsessed with performance—where seriousness can become a mask, and humility a disguise—she urges us to find sincerity. To take oneself seriously enough to honor one’s craft, but not so seriously as to forget one’s humanity. The artist must learn to dance between self-importance and self-erasure, to live in the paradox of creation: that the most profound works often emerge from play.

And so, my child, heed this wisdom. When you create, or when you dress, or when you simply live—do so with intention and delight. Take yourself seriously enough to honor your gifts, but not so gravely that you suffocate them. Laugh as you labor. Seek beauty not as ornament, but as truth. Remember, as St. Vincent teaches, that the truest art—and the truest life—are born when seriousness meets joy, when discipline meets wonder, and when the heart, even in its devotion, never forgets how to love what is beautiful.