We’re Losing the Art of Personal Style

Since becoming a member of the SCAD FASH Museum, I’ve spent more time thinking about fashion beyond the clothes themselves. Walking through exhibitions, seeing pieces from the closet of André Leon Talley, reading his memoir, and learning more about the history of Christian Dior and the designers who came after him, I keep finding myself returning to the same question:

What happened to personal style?

Not fashion. Not trends. Not luxury.

Style.

What struck me most about Talley wasn’t the luxury of his wardrobe. It was his conviction. Fashion wasn’t frivolous to him. It was culture, history, storytelling, and identity. He understood that clothing could communicate something about who we are and where we come from before we ever said a word.

And when I learned more about Dior, I was reminded that great fashion houses weren’t built on logos alone. They were built on vision. Dior revolutionized women’s fashion because he dared to imagine something different. The designers who succeeded him each left their own creative imprint, not by simply repeating what had already been done, but by interpreting it through their own perspective.

Talley collected fashion, but what he was really collecting were stories. Dior designed clothing, but what he was really designing was possibility.

Both understood something that feels easy to forget today: fashion is at its most powerful when it says something about the person wearing it.

Somewhere along the way, getting dressed became less about self-expression and more about recognition. We learned how to dress for the algorithm, how to dress for the aesthetic, how to dress to be perceived. We mastered the art of looking the part, but in the process, I wonder if we’ve lost something much more interesting: the courage to dress like ourselves.

Scroll through social media and you’ll see the same silhouettes repeated over and over again. Matching sets. Viral pieces. Designer logos. The same aesthetics recycled in slightly different ways. And while there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of those things—I own matching sets, designer shoes, and luxury handbags myself—I often find myself wondering whether we’re confusing consumption with creativity.

Fashion has always reflected the culture around it. In a world driven by speed, visibility, and endless content, it makes sense that our wardrobes would begin to reflect those values too. Trends move faster than ever. Clothing is produced and consumed at a pace that would have been unimaginable a generation ago. We are constantly being told what is in, what is out, what is worth buying, and what will make us look relevant.

The result is that many of us are dressing from the same visual vocabulary.

But style has never been about ownership.

It’s about interpretation.

A designer bag doesn’t make someone stylish. Neither does a closet full of expensive clothing. Style is what happens when a person takes what they have and turns it into something uniquely their own. It’s the thrifted skirt paired with a vintage jacket. The heirloom jewelry worn with a simple white t-shirt. The unexpected color combination that shouldn’t work, but somehow does.

It’s personality made visible.

Some of my favorite pieces cost less than twenty dollars. Others came from consignment stores. Some are designer. Some are vintage. One day I might be wearing thrifted earrings, a vintage skirt, and designer shoes. Another day I’m in a dress I found at a Goodwill. The joy isn’t in the label. It’s in creating a combination that feels like me. I mix high and low because I’m not trying to communicate a price point. I’m trying to communicate a point of view.

Fashion, at its best, is a language. The clothes are the vocabulary. Personal style is what happens when you finally have something to say.

And I think that’s what concerns me most. So many people are dressing to be seen, desired, envied, validated, or admired. They’re dressing for an audience. They’re dressing for engagement. They’re dressing for approval.

But creativity rarely thrives under those conditions.

Creativity requires curiosity. Experimentation. Risk. It requires wearing something that not everyone understands. It requires developing taste rather than borrowing it. It requires enough self-knowledge to ask not, “Will people like this?” but “Does this feel like me?”

Perhaps creativity gets lost the moment we begin dressing for everyone except ourselves.

The most stylish people I’ve ever encountered weren’t the people wearing the most expensive clothes. They weren’t the people with the largest collections of designer handbags or the most recognizable labels. They were the people whose clothing felt like an extension of who they were. Their style reflected their experiences, their interests, their culture, their imagination, and their individuality.

Their outfits weren’t asking for attention.

They were telling the truth.

And maybe that’s what personal style has always been: not a performance, but a form of self-knowledge. Not a trend, but a testimony.

The clothes matter.

But the person wearing them matters more.