I was thinking back to the way I was at university last week when I was in Topshop, holding a blue and white striped women's shirt with floppy cuffs. Old me would have snapped it up, along with a ton of other things that I would wear once and then exile to the back of my ethically questionable overflowing wardrobe. But holding this shirt, I was having a block, and it dawned on me right there in Topshop that I’d been having a year-long block. I realised that over the last year, my wardrobe had become monotonal: all-black everything, oversized if not drowning, and zero accessories. I’d even let my hair grow back to its usual mousy brown shade, instead of bleached blonde, blue, pink. I realised I could pinpoint the day I had stopped dressing how I wanted to dress, and it was a year ago, the day after the attack.