Gathering style inspiration from the internet, and more specifically other people’s lives, is an all too familiar habit of today’s world. The first place to go to choose outfits or decide what to purchase has increasingly become social media platforms, such as Instagram or Pinterest. The entire consumer market is fuelled by trends and endless consumption of the ‘next best thing’. But what does this mean for us as individuals?

While the thrill of a new purchase is enough to make your day and your perfectly curated Pinterest board is pleasing to look at for a short time, we seem to be slowly drifting further from the true meaning of ‘influence’ and ‘inspiration’, and more towards a dopamine-fuelled rush into an artificial sense of personal style.

The notion of personal style is as much used as it is misunderstood, and it seems that the line between personal style and ‘aesthetic’ has become blurred. Defining someone’s ‘personal style’ nowadays seems to come down to categorising the type of style they have, which usually only ever alludes to a pre-established format. Consequently, we find that the notion of ‘good’ personal style has quietly reduced itself to the accuracy to which one can execute a visual category through what they choose to dress themselves in. It seems we have lost the ‘personal’ element entirely, both in limiting ourselves and being limited.    

What’s more is that this cycle seems to be self-sustaining; if you define your personal style via aesthetic groups as the internet has so profusely encouraged, then you will be inclined seek influence within that pre-established category of style choices. In conflating an ‘aesthetic’ group with ‘personal style’, one’s capacity for influence becomes an artificial echo chamber. Through social media, this echo chamber starts to shape the way we view ourselves – but not in the way we would hope. After all, if we only buy and wear clothes because we have seen them on someone else, then it is unlikely that wearing them will make us feel more like ourselves.

This insatiable appetite for consumption generated by unstable visual identity cannot be satisfied by this endlessly changing stream of influences. Here-in lies the problem.

The effect of this is starting to reveal itself in the latest online fashion discourses. 2026, it seems, is the year of: the weird and the whacky, the unpredictable and, most importantly, the personal. It appears that the saturation of trends and uniformity has started to tip the balance and, once again, it is cool to be different.

But, in a world of over-influence, how achievable is this?

We have all gone from hating something to liking it because it has suddenly become a trend. I remember my initial disgust at the Margiela-esque Tabis, only then, months later, to spend hours trawling through Vinted to find myself a pair. And why? Because I had seen it on Pinterest, on Instagram, and on my favourite influencer. All of a sudden, I wanted it.

This lapse of authentic judgement isn’t something to be ashamed of. It is, after all, the intended outcome of a system designed to sell you anything and everything. However, there are ways of distinguishing between what you like and what you have been told to like, allowing you to make more informed, personal decisions about the way you dress yourself.

Going forward into the New Year, mindful consumption needs to be the forerunner in the hunt for authentic personal style. The answer to liking your clothes for the right reasons lies not in buying more but buying less. Before you buy something, ask yourself: Will I like this in 10 years? Did I love it the first time I saw it? Does this reflect who I am or just what I have seen other people wearing?

Your clothes are not supposed to define you. You are supposed to define your clothes. In adopting this attitude you will begin to succeed in finding your authentic personal style.

Image: Andrej Lisakov via Unsplash