'I wore the perfect outfit to my cousin's wedding. For the first time, I forgot to hate my body.'

I was genuinely excited for my cousin's wedding.

Not just because I love a celebration — the dancing, the food, the excuse to wear something a little extra, but because, for the first time as an adult, I was going to feel beautiful.

I was going to wear a Lengha— a type of outfit that I'd never worn before. Not like this. Not with intention. Not with care. And definitely not with the kind of reverence I'd built up from years of watching other women who looked like me wear them so effortlessly. The colours. The shape. The way the fabric moved when they danced. It was bold and beautiful and proud. I always admired it and secretly wanted to feel that way in my own body.

I've never felt like that before. Not once.

When I get dressed, the question is never, "Do I like this?" It's always, "Does this make me look skinny?"

Watch: The author of this piece discuss personal style on the Mamamia Out Loud podcast. Post continues below.

That thought has been hardwired into my brain. I don't know how not to think about my body. It's always there like a low hum of surveillance. I think about it when I'm talking to someone, when I'm walking into a room, even right now as I write this. I picture what people around me might see. What angle they're getting. Where my body creases or folds. There's no break.

So when I first tried on my lengha, I automatically started adjusting. The skirt sat just below my belly button, exposing a soft panel of skin — the kind I've spent years hiding. I kept tugging the fabric up, trying to cover it. But the seamstress gently pulled it back down.

"You don't want to show your skin?" she asked, confused.

She saw my discomfort and gently explained that I'd be doing a disservice to the outfit if I didn't let it sit where it was designed to. "It's meant to sit lower," she said. "It won't look as nice if you try to change the shape."

Then she added something no one has ever said to me in my life: "Don't lose any weight before the wedding. It won't fall as well."

I was floored. I've spent my whole life being told the opposite. But here I was, being told that this outfit was already perfect for my body as it is.

And she was right.

The crop top hugged my chest without digging in. The skirt draped around my hips and thighs instead of squeezing them. I didn't need shapewear. I didn't need to constantly suck in. I didn't feel exposed. I felt seen. I felt beautiful.

My Lengha <3

But it wasn't just the lengha. It was the whole experience.

The bangles, the earrings, the shawl draped over one shoulder. The weight of my makeup. The colour. The jewellery. The effort. More is more and I loved it.

In my day-to-day life, I'd never dare. I'd tell myself it's "too much," or "too noticeable." But here, I leaned in. And it felt good to take up space.

And it wasn't just at the wedding. There were two other events— the Mehndi and the Haldi, where I also wore traditional outfits. Each one different, yet both so vibrant. Similarly to the lengha, these outfits made me feel light, free and comfortable. I wasn't hiding or adjusting or checking myself in mirrors. I was just... there. Fully present in my own skin. Which is not something I say lightly.

My outfits for the Mehndi (left) and Haldi (right).

And the strangest thing happened: I stopped thinking about my body. Not because it vanished from my awareness, but because for once, I didn't feel the need to monitor it. I danced. I ate. I laughed loudly. I didn't check every photo to see if my arms looked big. I didn't suck in every time someone turned in my direction.

I just lived. And it was so freeing.

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But after the festivities ended, I felt this odd sadness creep in. Because I knew I had to go back to my normal wardrobe. Back to outfits that pinch and squeeze and smooth and control. Clothes that are supposedly "flattering" which usually means "shrinks you down." They're designed to hide the things this outfit celebrated.

Listen to the author of this piece talk about her relationship with fashion on the Mamamia Out Loud podcast. Post continues below.

Western fashion was never built for bodies like mine. And for so long, I thought I was the problem. I thought I was doing something wrong by not fitting in.

But this wedding (and this outfit) reminded me that I've never been the problem. The problem is trying to force myself into a version of beauty that was never meant for me.

For one perfect week, I got to wear clothes that didn't ask me to change.

And in return, they gave me something I didn't know I needed: a break from hating my body.

If you want more from Emily Vernem, you can follow her on Instagram @emilyvernem.

Feature image: Supplied.