Chic, a word I first heard from a pretty British girl. Given that Britain owns the “fancy” stereotype and the fact that her style was eye-catching, I complimented her on that. She replied with “yes, we are all known to be chic and whatnot lol.” I had not the slightest clue as to what “chic” meant. I quickly looked it up and found that it was just a fancy way of saying “fancy.” Henceforth, I dedicated my life to using that unique lexeme. Soon enough I googled “chic style” and all types of intriguing people dressed in a humble, flamboyant manner popped up. I fell in love with it. I wanted to rock that style but I just wouldn’t “fit in” so my fantasies perished. Maybe I could move to France, Britain, Paris, London, or somewhere I would fit in but that would make me “ordinary,” a fashion I despise with all of my soul. Then a surge of bravery hit me.
The current rushed powerfully against me. The current of plain Indiana fashion. I refused to swim with it so I struggled and grunted against it. I would slowly engrave chic into my style. I would let these Hoosiers get a glimpse of my newly found passion for chic fashion. I wanted to admire myself as I did the pretty girl whom introduced me to this luscious world of fancy clothes. That’s me. A humbly, classy scion. I am Sway: forever Sway