There’s something ironic about building a personal style — because so often, we begin by copying someone else’s. At first, it feels safer to wear what we’ve seen work on others than to risk being wrong in our own skin. But style, I’ve learned, is not about camouflage. It’s about editing your past, projecting your intention, and revealing just enough of yourself — like unmasking, but slowly.
It took me years to admit how much of my early wardrobe wasn’t really mine. It was inherited — not just literally (hello, vintage pieces from my mother’s closet) but emotionally. It was borrowed confidence. It was Pinterest inspiration boards printed onto fabric. And it worked — until it didn’t.
I remember once layering a high-neck blouse, oversized blazer, and sharp boots because I saw someone wear it in Paris. But when I looked in the mirror, I saw armor. Not elegance. Not even strength. Just… defense.
That’s when I realized something: style is personal — but it’s also profoundly psychological.
Who Are You Trying Not to Be?
We always talk about “who we want to become” when dressing. But rarely do we ask, who are we afraid of looking like?
This was a turning point for me. I had been trying to avoid looking “too soft,” “too feminine,” “too unsure.” So I leaned into black, structure, and restraint. The result was technically elegant — but personally muted. That’s the moment I understood that great style isn’t just a construction — it’s also a deconstruction of our fears.
Strangely enough, the thought struck me while casually browsing a lighthearted DIY piece about crafting a Darth Vader-themed piñata — yes, really, a piñata in full villainous glory for a child’s party. What made me pause wasn’t the craft itself, but the symbolism: the mask, the exterior, the performance of power.
It made me wonder: how many of us are dressing like piñatas — sturdy, armored, polished on the outside, but terrified of what people might discover if they broke through?
Mistakes Are Part of the Uniform
One of the kindest things I can say about my younger self is that she tried. She wore the wrong shoes. She bought the wrong blazers. She misunderstood what “modern tailoring” meant. She kept trying. And that’s something I now see in every woman I work with.
We all have to go through the awkward phase — the color that never suited us, the trend that made us feel like imposters, the outfit we wore to impress someone else. These aren’t failures. They’re style scars — and they matter.
I no longer cringe at my past fashion choices. They weren’t mistakes. They were drafts. My style today is the result of a hundred wrong versions that taught me what not to wear — and more importantly, why.
Confidence Is Built, Not Worn
Let’s put something to rest: no one feels confident just because they’re wearing a “power look.” Confidence doesn’t come from shoulder pads or color-blocked heels. It comes from alignment — when your clothes don’t just fit your body, but your mood, your values, your moment.
That’s why I think we should stop chasing “confidence” and start cultivating coherence.
Sometimes coherence means clean jeans and a white t-shirt. Other times, it means drama, red lipstick, something that swishes when you walk. But the key is that it must feel like you on your best day, not like someone else on theirs.
The Shift from Decoration to Dialogue
There’s a quiet transformation that happens when you stop dressing to be “interesting” and start dressing to be understood.
The early version of me layered statement pieces on top of each other — bold prints, statement earrings, exaggerated silhouettes. Not because I loved them all — but because I feared invisibility. I wanted to be noticed, even if it meant not being known.
Now? I use style as a dialogue, not a billboard. Some days I whisper with soft greys and textures. Other days, I speak boldly with color or sharp lines. But always, I ask: what am I saying with this outfit, and to whom?
That shift — from performance to presence — is where personal style truly lives.
Style Is Not a Costume (Even When It’s Fun to Pretend)
There’s room for play in fashion. There should be. I still enjoy over-the-top accessories, holiday outfits, or ridiculous themed looks at parties. They remind me that joy and style are not mutually exclusive.
But I also know the difference now between playing dress-up and dressing with depth. One masks you. The other reveals you.
And if you want to know where the line is? It’s in the mirror, right at the corner of your mouth — the difference between a smile that says “I’m allowed to wear this” and one that says “I’m finally showing who I am.”
Final Thoughts: The Mask Is Yours to Remove
We all wear masks — socially, emotionally, stylistically. Some protect us. Some hide us. But the beauty of style is that it allows us to decide how much we want to reveal — and when.
So if your wardrobe still feels like a fortress, that’s okay. Build slowly. Try, fail, laugh, fix. Take a little inspiration from art, or even party crafts if you must. But above all, remember:
Style isn’t what you put on.
It’s what you take off — fear, confusion, other people’s expectations — until what’s left is you.
And that? That’s always worth wearing.
