Groucho Marx

J.Crew white shirtdress // Le Chateau shoes // Calvin Klein socks // Nella Bella bag // Spektre sunglasses 

Rufus T. Firefly, Duck Soup (1933). Speaking of being funny and fashionable, Groucho Marx is my spirit animal. His humour is as dry as I like my martinis, he loves a good pun, and always manages to offend. My boyfriend says I’m mean when I joke. I think I’m funny. Depends how serious you take me, which the answer should be, not at all. I’m making a joke about 99% of the time.

The other 1% I’m literally freaking out. Just a few weeks ago I had my first ever panic attack. Now, I know y’all think you’ve had a panic attack before – when someone took the last cold-pressed juice at your office, or there’s a subway delay and the person beside you has fish breath – but I’m telling you, you haven’t had a panic attack until you don’t know you’re having one. I’ll spare you the details, but I literally thought I was having a stroke and was going to die alone in my apartment for no reason.

You see, panic attacks mimic symptoms of other ailments. Your heart starts to beat out your chest. You vomit, faint, feel dizzy. You think – what the fuck is happening to me? And it’s not until you find a state of mental calm that you realize. Holy shit, that was a panic attack.

I’ve basically steered this post into a brick wall today – but if you’re still with me, we both think it’s worth talking about panic attacks to some extent (at least on a marginally popular fashion blog). So what gives? A few weeks ago I posted about being freaked out in an airplane (yes, and I’ve coined myself Jetset Justine); and you wouldn’t believe all the people who came forth willing to share their anxieties about flying.

To me, it’s all about control. The things we cannot control freak us out. Two ways to deal with that, for me, are 1. Learning to accept the things we cannot control and 2. Going to yoga. On my yoga mat I’m Charles in Charge, baby. Ain’t nobody gonna push me out of Eagle pose or Standing Head to Knee (but myself). The hot room is my sanctuary – if I can get enough of a rush from being in control there, I can learn to accept the stuff I can’t control outside of the hot room, especially people who don’t laugh at my jokes.

How do you cope with panic attacks? Let’s chat about stress-relieving techniques and whether or not I should’ve worn something underneath this outfit. (I’m wearing shorts, #dontpanic). Hit me up on Insta @jetsetjustine.

Justine Iaboni