What even is personal style?
A long and winding ramble on what it means, who stands out, and how to find it in our overwhelming digital landscape.
Walk through Soho or the West Village on a Saturday afternoon and you’ll see it: a gaggle of early twenty-something women dressed in slight variations of the same thing. And I say this from a standpoint which is purely observational, not judgmental, as I understand the need for human belonging that’s hard-wired into our brains and necessary for survival. It’s just that, in New York City, it hasn’t always been this way. When I moved here in 2011, it felt like a haven for people who weren’t cool in high school, and a place where strangeness was celebrated. And this city, fickle as she is, said: Here, I saved a seat for you.
These days, it’s not as common to encounter a person with such an inspiring sense of personal style that it stops me in my tracks (and even then, how can we tell it’s true and innate? I’ll get to that) and I suspect it’s perhaps because a lot of us are looking at the same exact things, and less likely to give into boredom and indulge our imaginations.
Taking a passive, if almost-robotic approach to getting dressed by allowing ephemeral trends–or the recreation of others’ style verbatim–to dictate our own style will instead prevent us from developing it, and bring us further away from our authentic (I’m sick of that word, but you know what I mean) selves. In this current landscape, there’s rarely a reward for individuality on a trend-based algorithm, and in fact, more incentive to follow the leader. And that is one of many reasons, in our increasingly-digital era, I think personal style is more difficult to encounter. Harder yet to define. And arguably impossible to merely add to cart.
Developing personal style is neither an easy task nor is it a concrete destination, and it can’t simply be acquired through overconsumption. Even for those to whom it comes naturally, it takes trial and error and risks and references, evolves over time as we do, and is the culmination of so much more than just endless scrolling on our phones. Style, I think, is developed through observing and living and experiencing life through all the senses, and bleeds into every area of self expression. Inspiration really is everywhere–even in a 17th c. painting of British man in pantaloons (see above, looking at you, James Hamilton), the tassels on a window treatment, the way a song makes us feel, or in the intricacies of Queen Elizabeth I’s ruff. Clothing can be a form of soft armor–it certainly is for me. It can also be a form of distraction, utility, art, and an emotional outlet. But personal style transcends simply what we wear. It’s not about the body wearing the clothing, either. It is, rather, an energy. A swagger. A sense of ownership and singularity. A point of view. A quiet confidence. A protective sheath. It is complex. Personal style is in our handwriting, our posture, and in our actions and reactions. It’s the way we shake someone’s hand, the shape of a beloved tube of lipstick, and in the way we take our coffee. It’s having a sense of humor and moving to the beat of our own drum! It’s the manner in which we decorate our homes. It’s in everything we touch. Personal style conveys a message, and like anything in the arts, it will never be one that is universally appealing or that everyone can make sense of. And that’s a good thing.
The late, great Isabella Blow seemed to have shared a similar perspective. She once said: “Fashion is about emotion. It’s about love. Women love clothes because they mean something to them—the day you met the man you love, the day you got married, what you did before you made love to somebody.”
I have and find comfort in a daily uniform–for me, as many of you know, that is usually an all-black ensemble. All black, which I started wearing almost exclusively at age 19 (save for blue jeans, white shirts, and trench coats), brings me a sense of calm and protection as a sensitive person, and acts as a buffer from the chaos of living in a city that can be overstimulating in an already anxious mind. It may be boring to some, but I’m dressing only for myself, and it means something to and energizes me. Within my chosen palette I experiment with proportions and textures; silhouettes and layering. My style is neither minimalist nor maximalist, and ebbs and flows as it tends to be a direct extension of my mood. Some days it’s classic and refined; other times it’s witchy and vintage inspired. I am always a little undone, and I am always myself (and trust me I’ve made some questionable choices). And I never, ever take myself too seriously. My closet has become a museum of my life’s experiences, which are, of course, variable and not all pretty (the darkness comes from somewhere!!!). But beyond that, I’m not sure I can neatly categorize my style and I frankly prefer not to as, to quote Oscar Wilde, “to define is to limit.”
To that end, I certainly appreciate the polished simplicity of The Row, and other minimal brands that share a similar ethos. But I do think the Row-ification, if you will, and a hyper-minimalist approach to style, has kept many of us from stepping outside of our comfort zones, sartorially speaking, and perhaps even left us feeling bored and uninspired. Personally, stark minimalism feels a bit like a creative straitjacket.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to the stylist
about this topic and the vast difference between wearing and styling, a concept well known to the fashion-obsessed interwebs. As mentioned above, I love The Row and love wearing The Row. (I don’t, however, love paying The Row prices, but who does?) It provides beautiful, divinely-tailored garments that stand the test of time, but wearing them, while always tasteful, doesn’t necessarily make one “stylish.” We made note of this in the way Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen interpret and style it–and they do so in a manner that is worlds away from how it’s presented on the runway and in lookbooks. And I find that utterly refreshing.
A couple times a month I do little Q&As on Instagram, something I genuinely enjoy as a means of connecting with my community. Often, I receive questions seeking advice on capsule wardrobe items. I always struggle to provide helpful insight, because no matter how essential an article of clothing might seem to me, I don’t think there should ever be a one-size-fits-all, prescriptive approach to style or fashion. And even something as seemingly universal as a white t-shirt (my favorite, for the record, is by Leset), or a tailored black maxi coat, may have no purpose in someone else’s wardrobe. So who am I to tell someone what to wear or how to wear it? Wear what you want! I’m just dressing for myself.
When I think of people with a strong sense of personal style, I think of: Alessandro Michele, Chloe King, Kristen Bateman, Peggy Moffitt, Lynn Yaeger,
. I think of Isabella Blow, Patti Smith, Stevie Nicks, Alexa Chung, Michelle Lamy, Stella Lucia, and of course, the Olsens. Interestingly, they each have somewhat of a signature something, be it Yaeger’s lipstick, Michele’s rings, Nicks’s shawls, etc. And it’s not that I admire any of them simply because I see myself in what they wear, not at all. It’s because anytime I see these people, or photos of them, I get the sense that they don’t look to anyone else when they get dressed in the morning and certainly don’t seek permission. They seem to really lean into their imagination and serve as their own North Star. And I deeply appreciate that.
Bearing witness to those mentioned above, I’ve found a strengthened sense of comfort to explore the limits of my own creativity to find that, perhaps, there aren’t any. And instead of seeking to directly emulate or copy someone else’s outfits, we should, instead, seek to emulate a sense of fearlessness and agency in wearing what gives us energy, regardless of where it stands in the trend cycle.
I find myself constantly screenshotting Alessandro Michele’s Instagram Stories. He doesn’t post that frequently, but when he does, it’s always something that I know came from him without even seeing his handle on the top left corner. That’s when I had a little epiphany, because everything Alessandro wears, or makes–and even when it’s just a photo of a pile of his personal jewelry or a leather-bound notebook–appears to mean something to him. It’s rife with storytelling. It’s styled in a way that seems to bring him both comfort and soul alignment, is quintessentially him, and provides a vehicle for creative expression.
All that to say, I think that’s what it is: personal style, as it pertains to clothing or otherwise, is wearing and using things that mean and say something. It’s an unwavering commitment to–and honest reflection of–one’s self and one’s vision. I understand, better than most, the courage that takes.
Loved this read!
I’ve been really struggling with “what even is my style” so I loved reading this. A fresh way of looking at it after years of overconsumption to try to find it lol. Merci!