A Case of Imposter Syndrome
One of my goals this year is to apply for artist grants, something totally new to me. It’s nerve-racking, a style of writing I haven’t done since my university days almost a decade ago, entirely different from the way I write right now. There’s something so vulnerable about laying out my plans and asking for support, knowing it could be rejected. There’s also the matter of creating an Artist CV.
I’m a textile artist and designer now, but that isn’t what I went to school for. My background is in culinary arts and psychology, and while the experience I gained going through these programs taught me how to learn new things, on paper, they don’t have anything to do with botanical dyeing or garment design. My past jobs and history with Flopsy Life are all adjacent to what I’m doing now, informing my artistic practice, but again, not in an official way.
I’ve woven together what I know from an online bundle dyeing workshop, free tutorials, Google searches, and books, but I’ve learned the most from getting in my studio and playing, a very “fuck around and find out” flopsy ethos. I discovered so much about garments working in retail, writing about slow fashion brands I loved, and curating vintage. I haven’t had a mentor, just friends I play around with sometimes, sharing what we know. I have a lot of lived experience, but I don’t always have the correct language or understand why something I’m doing works, and I definitely don’t have credentials to list on a resume. It made me feel like an imposter, like I don’t deserve to be doing this.
As vulnerable as this process has been, I’m also finding it empowering; the clarity that comes from outlining exactly what, how, when and why I’m setting the goals I’d like to accomplish this year. Someone I was talking with recently shared that they believe imposter syndrome is where growth happens—it means you’re doing something big, something that matters deeply to you. I love that! I keep repeating it to myself whenever I feel that anxiety flare up.
This uncomfortable feeling is also pointing out something that I’ve been missing—I actually really love studying, learning about history and falling down rabbit holes of interests, writing research papers (now, articles) about what I’m discovering. But it’s something that’s fallen to the side as I run this business and raise a tiny human. It’s made me realize I’m craving taking a few workshops to learn some new techniques and the language to describe what I’m doing. I also want to study things unrelated to my business, like ceramics. I don’t need a full-out degree, but I do want some dedicated time to nerd out on what I’m curious about.
As I wrap this project up, submitting a draft of my grant proposal for review, I feel more secure. I know I’m not perfect or an expert, but I don’t need to be. I might not have gone to art school, but that doesn’t make me an imposter; I’ve just taken a different journey. I love what I do, and that I can share it in a way that feels easeful.
Answering the grant questions reminded me of my mission to help make slow fashion more accessible and joyful, and I think botanical dyeing is a big part of that. It allows you to rework thrifted pieces, create unique heirlooms, and visibly mend the pieces you love. While there are formal programs you can take if you have the desire (as well as the time and funds), I know firsthand that you don’t have to. It can be as simple or as complicated as you want, and there are so many resources available depending on what journey you’d like to take. Next week, I’ll be sharing what I studied as I started, and a few things I’ve learned along the way.