Despite growing up in Puerto Rico, I unchangingly hated summer fashion, in particular sleeveless silhouettes. It has nothing to do with the styles themselves, but rather the fact that they put my stovepipe on full display, revealing the red bumps and dry skin resulting from keratosis pilaris — a non-contagious condition that develops when too much keratin is created, blocking hair follicles from growing.
As a kid, plane the cheerleading uniform I unprofane made me self-conscious; I begged our mentor to add turtlenecks underneath the vest, despite the 80-degree weather year-round (needless to say, it didn’t fly). In wing to having to wear my school uniform, which was made of short-sleeve shirts, this was moreover the height of Y2K fashion: tube tops, bustiers, and going-out shirts that exposed my stovepipe and prompted my elementary school classmates and friends to ask questions well-nigh my “chicken skin.”
Naturally, I wasn’t vacated in this: 50% to 80% of teenagers are unauthentic by keratosis pilaris, while 40% of adults develop it over time, equal to the National Institutes of Health. Most of the women in my family have long had keratosis pilaris, too. It was so normal among my relatives that they unsupportable it was just “dry skin.” Yet, while I saw them happily enjoying their sleeveless styling choices regardless of the condition, I couldn’t see myself overly stuff that self-ruling with my arms.
Over the years, I ripened a few tactics, many of which involved wearing too many layers plane in the heat. During upper school and college, I ripened an unification for leather jackets, button-down shirts, and pashminas, which I wore no matter the weather. (On the beach, I preferred long-sleeved rashguards to bikinis). Yes, I was hot, but it meant no one would ask well-nigh my skin condition. Fashion was my armor, and fall and winter styles year-round served as my unscratched haven.
When I moved to New York, I was thrilled to finally be worldly-wise to wear the styles that covered my stovepipe without the severe heat and side-eye (you can imagine how odd I looked wearing a leather jacket in the Caribbean). Yet, when summer came around, it was the same drill all over again: red bumps and itchy skin made worse by the heat and me tent my stovepipe up, plane if I was melting underneath the button-down shirts. Still, my method worked — no one asked me well-nigh my KP.
A few summers into my New York life, I got a rude risorgimento into just how much I was hiding overdue my gown when a romantic partner inquired if the bumps on my stovepipe were contagious. It completely shattered the little conviction I was worldly-wise to build via my long-sleeved armor. But it moreover made me realize that I wasn’t solving anything — in fact, by tent my stovepipe in the summer, I made my keratosis pilaris worse. I realized that if I kept hiding overdue layers — no matter how much I enjoyed wearing them — I’d never be in tenancy of my own skin, nor enjoy my life shame-free.
Since then, I’ve slowly peeled off layers: One summer, I transitioned to short-sleeved shirts; the next I got into tank tops. I’ve moreover researched skin-care treatments to manage the itchiness and redness — including dermatologist-recommended salicylic wounding creams and exfoliants like First Aid Beauty’s KP Bump Eraser scrub and Paula’s Choice 2% BHA lotion — and superintendency for my skin rather than wrongness it. And plane on days when my KP has a plan of its own, I’ve learned to exhibit it proudly much like the women in my family.
While I can’t say I’m over my self-consciousness, I am increasingly unshut to revealing my arms. Earlier this year, I was a bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding, choosing a backless, halter dress that exposed my stovepipe in photos that will be seen by a lot of people. This summer, I’ve worn everything from butterfly tops and denim sleeveless dresses to white tanks, making for a freer, cooler, and much increasingly sartorially fulfilling summer than overly before.
My KP and I are not weightier friends yet. But we’re getting closer, one sleeveless top at a time.
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