I’m standing in front of my mirror, adjusting the collar of this ridiculous floral-painted shirt. It’s tight—too tight—and the pants cling like a second skin. I didn’t think it was stylish, but Eva said she liked it. And she’s always dressed like she stepped out of a runway show.

I open the door and there she is, leaning against the hallway wall. 'Damn,' she says, eyes trailing over me. 'You actually pulled it off. That shirt was a gamble, but it works.'

Her compliment should feel good. But everyone at the party will be wearing minimalist black, sleek sneakers, effortless cool. This shirt screams 'trying too hard.'

Do I go back and change?

Or do I trust her—and myself—enough to wear it anyway?