In search of style? Here’s how to find it
In an internet-dominated, increasingly homogenised world, it’s a question that should be asked as a desire for originality grows.
Rachel Scott doesn’t use mood boards. “We’re just totally inundated with imaged constant,” the Diotima designer says. “I try not to engage with image in that way.”
Scott, instead, looks to photographs; scenes from everyday life - especially at home in Jamaica – to inform her work. The design process stems from a conceptual standpoint.
Scott doesn’t ever want to make something that already exists. Instead, she consciously works towards a sense of newness. Spring/summer ’24 offers up a crystal mesh fabric that’s sheer, to be styled different ways under, say a suit, or an open shirt.
Though her own personal style, references and history come into play, it’s the moment the wearer takes the item and adds their own idiosyncrasies that finishes the garment, Scott says.
Scott needs more time to think about her own personal style. In fact, it’s a goal for this year, and something she’s finding informs her collections more and more. To hone her look, she turns to women she finds interesting and smart – Miuccia Prada is a source of inspiration. Scott seeks not to emulate Mrs Prada’s own style, but to draw on her commitment to a look. It’s something many of us are increasingly craving right now, to first uncover, then cultivate, a sense of personal style. And it’s a progressively tricky feat.
It’s no wonder. In a hyper-online world, dictated by trends made up of viral items and “cores” that come and go weekly, it’s become harder and harder to hone one’s own taste. Brands bound by commercial pressures are forced to play into these ultra-defined aesthetics or risk falling off people’s feeds entirely, further compounding the abundance of trends that are more and more devoid of meaning.
Algorithms are built to please. Given tech’s tendency to feed us fashion we’ve indicated we’re interested in via clicks and likes, our ability to discover images – of clothing or otherwise – outside of content designated “for us” is extremely limited. It’s cyclical: a TikTok aesthetic blows up. We’re fed related images and products. We engage with these internet aesthetics, because it’s what we’re fed. And we’re shown more of the same.
Cultivating style in a digital world inundated with imagery is a battle in and of itself. Doing so in the context of apps that have learned what it thinks are our tastes – based on aesthetics we’ve previously interacted with – is a different beast entirely. How can we break out of an echo chamber that’s been specifically tailored to us?
At the spring/summer ’24 Miu Miu show, Mrs Prada offered a point toward the personal in sending messy-haired, band aid-toed, impeccably dressed models through the Palais d’Iéna, large, overflowing leather bags clutched under their arms. Attendees got only a glimpse of their contents: a denim jacket, in case it gets cold; a change of shoes, in case of an unmissable after-work pit stop that calls for a heel; orange briefs, because you never quite know when you’ll need a spare pair.
It was a celebration of “the joy of life”, Prada said in her show notes; of the messiness of the day to day. Of life offline.
Throughout the spring/summer ’24 season, some designers played it safe, opting for pieces bound to sell, and sell well. Others went the hype route, seeking to replicate Coperni’s spray-on moment from 2022 with out-there garments designed to capture social media clicks and shares, rather than dollars.
But some brands, understanding the growing craving for an antidote to viral-for-the-sake-of-viral items, can find a way to sit in the sparsely populated middle.
Take Miu Miu: clothes that are at once fiercely individualistic and social media catnip. The brand has, intentionally or not, cracked social media’s now infamous algorithms, playing into this tension of commerciality and virality. On Instagram feeds, ballet flats abound – years after Miu Miu debuted its ribboned version of the flat in back in 2016.
Jonathan Anderson also had a stellar year, at both his eponymous label and Loewe doing a similar thing. Loewe’s runways embrace idiosyncrasy in the most fun sense of the word. The clothes are wearable, but have cheek. Ultra-high waisted pants; a suede coat that doubles as a handbag (Greta Lee wore the white silk/gold chain dress iteration in January); and floor-length, armless chunky knit cardigans call for humour while wearing. The clothing is tailored to perfection but, as Anderson said backstage, it’s off – it has a touch of the real world.
Anderson’s Loewe autumn/winter ’24 men’s show made abundantly clear the designer’s understanding of the internet, its inundation of imagery and, as per the show notes, the “algorithm of masculinity” that feeds it. Both shows illustrate a call for individuality, at once alluring for their nuance and primed to go viral.
Both Anderson and Prada have managed to toe the line between commercial pressure and the fiercely independent thinking that begets true creativity. Many major houses, at present, are bound to the former. There was less risk-taking during the spring/summer’ 24 season, says Sherri McMullen, founder of Californian McMullen boutique. “There’s a lot of the same product that we’re seeing over and over and over,” she says. “It could be from a financial lens – thinking, safe is better right now because that’s what’s selling. It’s the time that we’re in, and that impacts how art shows up in the world.”
“Inspiration isn’t taking an outfit and copying it as it is; it’s not copy/paste. It can be far more conceptual”
Deep in the algorithmic epoch, these labels are increasingly outliers and designers, buyers and consumers (all of whom are also dressers) alike are calling for a refresh. Excitingly though, in this sea of sameness, there’s room for standouts – 2024’s up-and-comers are making a bid to offer something different, something new. “People want those brands that are doing amazing things in the world,” McMullen says. “They’re using traditions from certain parts of the world; they’re using their hands, working with women who are creating sustainable product. People are willing to wait for those special things that evoke some kind of emotion when you put them on your body.”
Oliver Li, founder of Sydney boutique Chinatown Country Club, which stocks emerging designers including London-based Bianca Saunders, Korean Andersson Bell and
Norway’s Holzweiler, agrees. “The challenges the industry is facing at the moment in conjunction with the saturation of brands out there has provided the drive and motivation for some designers to really focus on their offerings,” he says. In spring/ summer ’24, Li notes a focus on craftsmanship and ethos with clearer direction and unique identity. “Our focus is always on emerging contemporary designers,” he says. “In terms of our brand mix, we are either the first or only stockist for many of the designers we carry, so introducing new, local and innovative brands will always be a priority for us.”
A desire for originality – and personality – is making its way onto red carpets, where celebrities are embracing personal style once again. Ayo Edebiri and Greta Lee offer a parade of Loewe and Prada, courtesy of New York-based stylist Danielle Goldberg. Recently, Rosamund Pike offered up a masterclass in spring/summer ’24’s best: Molly Goddard, Simone Rocha and lots of Dior. Hunter Schafer made the case for colour with her Hunger Games red carpet wardrobe, replete with Schiaparelli and Marni, with the help of her stylist Dara Allen.
These embraces of originality – a step away from the stripped back looks that became all too standard – can offer us fresh cues for getting dressed. Given the proliferation of these images, this desire for individuality is going mainstream.
So how do we apply an embrace of our own style selves in the real world? To help people hone their personal style this year, fashion writer and analyst Mandy Lee launched a “75 Hard Style Challenge”. The rules? Get dressed every day; document your outfits; buy nothing. Lee recommends you use social media sparingly for inspiration. “It’s a symptom of modern-day dressing,” she says. “People are very much online and get a lot of style inspiration, whether that’s intentional or not.”
Dressing without looking to social media is an exercise in rewiring your brain. “It’s a game of dress up,” Lee says. It’s a rejection of formula. The wearer is left to their own devices; to create something of their own by pulling from real life. Not unlike the genesis of a Diotima shirt, adorned with crochet doilies, a previously unseen approach to tailoring.
It’s also time to return to looking at the streets. It’s here, away from the fashion week’s peacocking, as photographer Tommy Ton noted in an Instagram caption, that “ugly chic” (a term Mrs Prada has used to describe her own designs) shines. On another level: What’s the weather like? Where are you going? “These really basic questions that I feel like used to be the blueprint for how people got dressed,” Lee says. And once you’re outside, keep your eyes up. McMullen finds inspiration to inform personal style in art, in travel. And in design talent beyond the major fashion hubs. “There’s talent in Atlanta. In Lagos, Australia and Copenhagen,” she says. “We just have to want to find the talent.”
This is the role of curators. The business of algorithms may have rendered e-comm a fraught landscape, but independent boutiques – especially physical spaces – offer a selection of clothing chosen by those with expertise and responsibility, who can offer clothing context.
It’s for this reason that Chinatown Country Club’s space is shrouded in art, replete with books and a cafe. “Providing these other offerings allow us to become more accessible to our audience,” Li says. “Visiting a fashion-oriented space can be quite transactional and intimidating. By providing other elements, these act as the bridge between customers and fashion retailers.”
In making fashion accessible, retailers help shift away from ultra-defined xyz cores. Here, there’s room to lean into storytelling that ventures outside of a stringent aesthetic. For context is key. “If the customer is craving something new, they want to know why we selected a certain brand,” McMullen says. “There’s usually a reason.” To understand a brand world creates impetus to wear and style the brand’s pieces. The garment’s context informs the outfit.
“That’s the thing,” Lee explains. “Inspiration isn’t taking an outfit and copying it as it is; it’s not copy/paste. It can be far more conceptual.”
A juxtaposition between introspection and outward interrogation, it seems, is the key to idiosyncratic dressing. The ability to take in and assess aesthetics from the world around; from art, film and the day-to-day, without deferring to an Instagram or TikTok feed to inform that judgement.
Diotima’s Scott averts attention from the latter. Instead, she works from a place of being. “I work within my world and keep pushing forward my ideas with confidence.” This feels a fitting start point for getting dressed.
This article appeared in the March issue of Vogue Australia, on sale now.
