*disclaimer: or suffer from delusions of grandeur, be a moderate narcissist or just have a great sense of style.

In the fifth grade you made your grandmother buy you two lace bows from a street vendor in D.C. after seeing the movie Desperately Seeking Susan. You also made your grandmother take you to see Who’s That Girl. Sorry Nana.

You dressed up as a bumblebee in middle school and survived.

When you were 15 a transvestite broke into your house and stole your bras.

In middle school you had your aunt sew you a jumpsuit out of leopard flannel. You wore it with the belt tied in the back to look like a tail.

You taught yourself how to sew. Sewing projects included hemming your grandfather’s seersucker pants into shorts, superhero outfits for your cousin and a pillow in the shape of a surfboard.

When applying to art school for Painting they mistakenly sent you a class schedule consisting of only fashion classes, you decided to major in Painting anyway.

You get compliments on your style from crack addicts.

You once made an entire subway platform of elementary school children break out laughing because of your outfit; or maybe it was your hair, anyway you pretended to ignore it.

You mentioned to your father that you secretly wished Alexander McQueen would adopt you, accidentally hurting his feelings.

You dress according to mood.

You judge people based on their shoes.

You wear jackets inside out because you like the lining.

You’re not afraid to wear lederhosen.

You know that Onesies aren’t just for babies.