I’m standing in front of my closet again. It’s 7:45 AM, the coffee hasn’t quite kicked in yet, and I am staring at a rack of clothes that, quite frankly, looks like it belongs to four different people. None of whom are actually me. There’s the “corporate professional” blazer I bought because I thought I needed to look like an adult, the “boho-chic” dress from that one phase last summer, and a pile of oversized t-shirts that I wear every single day because, well, they’re safe. They don’t say anything about me, which feels better than saying the wrong thing.
Do you ever feel like that? Like you’re just a collection of trends you’ve picked up along the way, or worse, a blank slate that just doesn’t know how to start? We’re told that style is this effortless thing, something you’re either born with or you “curate” like a gallery. But for most of us, it’s just messy. It’s a lot of trial and error, a few embarrassing photos from five years ago, and a recurring feeling of being a bit of an imposter in our own skin.
I’ve spent a long time thinking about why it’s so hard to find a personal style. I think it’s because we’ve been taught to look outward for the answers. We look at magazines, or social media feeds, or the person walking down the street who looks so *put together*. We try to copy the recipe, but we’re missing the ingredients that actually make it taste like something. Finding your style isn’t about the clothes, really. It’s about the person inside them finally deciding to show up.
The Trap of the “Fantasy Self”
We all have one. The fantasy self. She’s the version of you who lives in a cottage, drinks tea out of handmade ceramics, and wears flowing linen pants that never get wrinkled. Or maybe he’s the version of you who is a gritty urbanite in a leather jacket who always knows where the best underground jazz club is. The problem is, our fantasy selves buy clothes for lives we don’t actually lead.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bought something because it looked amazing on a mannequin or in a specific photo, only to realize that my actual life involves sitting at a desk for eight hours and walking a dog that sheds white fur on everything. That beautiful, structured wool coat? It’s too heavy for my climate and I can’t move my arms in it. But I bought it because I wanted to be the *kind of person* who wears that coat.
When you feel like you have no style, it’s often because you’re caught in the gap between who you are and who you think you should be. You’re buying costumes for a play you aren’t starring in. To break out of this, you have to get brutally honest. What do you actually reach for when you’re tired? What makes you feel like you aren’t trying too hard? Usually, the clues are hidden in the things you wear until they fall apart.
Learning to Listen to the “No”
Sometimes, figuring out what you love is too overwhelming. There are too many choices. Instead, it’s much easier to start with what you hate. I call this the “Process of Elimination” style method. It’s not fancy, but it works.
I realized a few years ago that I absolutely cannot stand the feeling of anything tight around my neck. Turtlenecks? Out. Choker necklaces? Never. Once I admitted that to myself, I stopped trying to make those “classic” looks work. I also realized that yellow makes me look like I’ve had a very long bout of the flu. So, no yellow. Suddenly, the world of possibilities got a little smaller, and that was a relief.
Try it. Go through your things and find the pieces that make you feel itchy, or self-conscious, or like you’re playing dress-up. Don’t worry about if they’re “cool” or “classic.” If they don’t feel right, they aren’t you. Giving yourself permission to dislike things is incredibly freeing. It clears the static so you can finally hear the quiet “yes” when it occasionally happens.
The Power of the Uniform
There’s this weird pressure to never wear the same thing twice, or to always have a “new” look. Honestly? That’s exhausting. And expensive. Most people I know who have truly great style actually wear a version of the same thing every single day. They have a uniform.
A uniform isn’t a literal costume. It’s a formula. For me, it’s usually straight-leg jeans, a tucked-in t-shirt, and some kind of sturdy boot. That’s my base. When I wear that, I don’t have to think. I feel like myself. From there, I can add a weird jacket or a piece of jewelry if I’m feeling adventurous, but the foundation is solid.
How to find your formula:
- Look at your favorite photos of yourself. What are you wearing in them?
- Notice which silhouettes you feel most comfortable in. Do you like things oversized or structured?
- Identify your “hero” pieces. Is it a specific pair of boots? A certain type of sweater?
- Don’t be afraid to be “boring.” If you love navy blue sweaters, buy five of them. It’s not a lack of style; it’s a signature.
Looking Beyond the Fabric
I think we focus too much on the “what” and not enough on the “how.” Style is as much about how you move and how you carry yourself as it is about the garments. Have you ever noticed how some people can wear a literal potato sack and look incredible? It’s because they’re comfortable. They aren’t fighting their clothes.
When you feel like you have no style, you’re usually uncomfortable. You’re adjusting your waistband, or pulling at your sleeves, or wondering if your shirt is tucked in right. That lack of ease is what makes it feel like the clothes are wearing you. When you find pieces that fit your actual body—not the body you hope to have next month—everything changes. The way you walk changes. Your posture relaxes.
And it’s not just about clothes. It’s the way you decorate your apartment, the pens you like to write with, the music you play when no one else is around. All of these things are threads in the same rug. If you feel lost in your closet, look at your bookshelf. Look at your kitchen. Do you like clean lines and minimalism there? Then maybe your “messy” style is why you feel out of sorts. Do you love bright colors and mismatched mugs? Maybe your all-beige wardrobe is the problem.
The Importance of “The Edit”
We live in a world that wants us to consume constantly. There’s always a new “core” or “aesthetic” to follow. But style is actually the opposite of consumption. It’s about curation. It’s about having the guts to say “that’s beautiful, but it’s not for me.”
I’ve found that the more I get rid of, the more I feel like I have a style. It sounds counterintuitive, I know. But when you only have fifteen things in your closet, and all fifteen of them are things you actually love and feel good in, you suddenly have “a look.” When you have a hundred things and you only like six of them, you have a mess.
It takes time to edit. It’s painful to let go of things you spent money on. But every time you remove something that doesn’t fit the real you, you’re making room for the real you to breathe. It’s a slow process. It’s not a weekend project; it’s a lifestyle shift.
Be Patient With the Silence
There will be days when you still feel like you’ve got it all wrong. You’ll try a new look, catch your reflection in a store window, and think, “Who is that clown?” That’s okay. That’s part of it. The “clown” moments are just data points. They’re telling you that you’ve pushed a little too far in one direction, and now you know where the boundary is.
Finding your style is a conversation between you and the world. It’s you saying, “This is how I’d like to be perceived today,” and the world reflecting that back to you. It doesn’t have to be loud. It doesn’t have to be “fashionable.” It just has to be true.
Don’t worry about the trends. Don’t worry about what’s “in” for Autumn. Instead, ask yourself what makes you feel most like you’re standing on solid ground. Sometimes, it’s a pair of beat-up sneakers. Sometimes, it’s a perfectly tailored coat. Whatever it is, lean into it. The rest will follow eventually.
It’s a quiet journey, but it’s a worthwhile one. Because when you finally find those few pieces that feel like home, you stop looking at the closet with dread. You just get dressed, and then you get on with the much more important business of living your life.