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The green dress that changed everything
There’s a quiet kind of poetry in getting dressed, one most people don’t think about. A scarf that once belonged to your grandmother. A thrifted blazer that somehow fits you like it was waiting for you. A dress that made you feel like yourself again, when you hadn’t in a while.
For me, style has always been more than clothes. It’s memory. It’s survival. It’s joy.
And in a city as colorful and complex as Orlando, style is a love language that says I’m here. This is who I am. This is where I come from.
My name is Siria, and I’m a fashion curator, writer, and devoted lover of stories. You may know me as The Thrift Curator on Instagram, where I document the quiet beauty of everyday fashion, often stitched together from secondhand finds, market gems, and pieces that carry the weight of a story. Beyond the visual, I’ve always believed in the sentiment. In the why behind the wear.
Because clothing is a vessel.
It holds time. It holds emotion. It holds identity.
I still remember that green dress.
It was a Goodwill find and my aunt spotted it first. We were living in Orlando at the time, and thrifting had become a kind of weekend ritual. I had never seen a secondhand store before we moved here. Back in Puerto Rico, that concept didn’t really exist in the 90’s. I was fascinated by it and how you could find treasures for just a quarter. And yet, there was always a quiet fear lingering beneath the curiosity: What if someone finds out I’m wearing used clothes?
My aunt was young, (24 at the time) held up the dress and said, “This has potential.” I didn’t quite understand what she meant, but she saw something. What none of us imagined was that two years later, that same green dress that was taken from an Orlando thrift store, would travel back to Puerto Rico, be restitched by my loving grandmother and become the dress I wore to win my hometown beauty pageant at 14.
I’ll never forget how I felt standing there in that dress.
Like I belonged. Like I was wearing more than a gown. I was wearing legacy, resourcefulness, and a quiet kind of pride.
That experience changed me. It made me grateful, humble. And in a way, it opened up a part of my creative spirit that had been quietly waiting. I started to see clothing as something that holds power. That transforms us.
All the shame around the second hand dress seemed to have melted in that very instant and I remember thinking to myself as the crown was placed on my head, I wonder who wore this before me? I felt so proud of my dress. And there was a silent comfort in knowing it did not matter what the story of that dress was before it found me. It had written a whole new chapter in mine.
We don’t often realize it but we’re building archives every day. Quiet ones. Personal ones. Our closets are filled with versions of ourselves. Chapters. Milestones. People we’ve loved. Places we’ve left. Dreams we’re still daring to name.
And here in Orlando, that story takes on its own vibrant rhythm.
This city pulses with creativity. From the vintage racks at Déjà Vu to the flea markets off Orange Blossom Trail, to the curated chaos of local thrift pop-ups and swap events. It’s not hard to see that people here are dressing with more than style in mind. There’s heart. There’s humor.
There’s heritage.
In Orlando, fashion is not about trends. It’s about expression. And often, it’s about roots.
What I’ve found in the fashion community here among thrifters, stylists, and local designers is a deep respect for clothing as a kind of storytelling. There’s a reverence for things that have lived other lives. For reimagining pieces, for sustainability, for honoring the past while creating something entirely new.
It reminds me of the home I grew up in where clothes were passed down like secrets. Where we didn’t throw things away, we re-wore them, re-named them, and reclaimed them.
And that’s what I want to celebrate.
Whether you shop vintage, high-end, or mix it all together, I believe style is at its most powerful when it’s personal. When it brings you closer to yourself. When it reminds you of where you’ve been, and pushes you gently toward where you’re going.
So maybe this is just the beginning. An invitation, really.
To look at your wardrobe differently.
To find the poetry in your own outfits.
To see how you’re already telling your story, one piece at a time.
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