The Death of Personal Style

Art by Sarah Houston

If you’ve done your routine scroll through TikTok recently or even taken a trip up to Soho, you might’ve noticed that everyone’s wardrobe looks suspiciously… identical. One week everyone is dressed like they’re at a casting call for Euphoria, next week they’re cosplaying as a Scandinavian furniture store representative, and by the time your Shein cart arrives they’ve all moved on to minimalist black turtlenecks trying to out–Steve Jobs each other. Welcome to the era of micro-trends, where “individual style” lasts approximately as long as an iced matcha in July. 

Personal style and the essence of individuality, believe it or not, didn’t just fall out of the sky with a pair of Baby Phat low-rise jeans. In the ’90s, grunge kids weren’t just wearing thrifted cardigans and torn jeans because they looked cool, they were rejecting the hyper-commercialized fashion of the era. In the ’70s, safety-pinned leather jackets, shredded T-shirts scrawled with Sharpie slogans, and hair spiked with drugstore gel weren’t just looks, they were middle fingers aimed at authority and conformity. 

The problem isn’t just about taste, it’s also about consumerism. Fast fashion has turned individuality into an assembly line, churning out Tank Air and Skims dupes faster than you can say “core.” The fashion industry thrives on convincing us that we need a new wardrobe every two weeks. The planet, however, is begging us to calm down. Landfills are overflowing with last season’s 90% polyester “must-haves.” 

One of many antidotes to this hamster wheel of trends isn’t abandoning fashion altogether; it’s learning how to stretch the life of what we already have. It’s a practice that slows things down, forcing us to treat clothing as raw material rather than trash. And beyond the environmental impact, there’s something rebellious about it; refusing to be spoon-fed disposable style. 

That mindset is what led me to my own craft. In high school, I became fixated on denim, not because it was glamorous, but because there was so much of it. I started wondering how to give it a second life, and eventually, I landed on shoes. What began as a rough experiment turned into a small business, where I designed, constructed, and sold over 80 pairs of denim clogs. Each pair had its own personality because the process was hands-on: digging through thrift racks to find denim with patterns, experimenting with bleach and dye until I found colors that popped, then cutting and distressing each piece. 

Wear what makes you feel good, even if it isn’t trending. Mix your thrift finds with a designer piece you saved up for. Keep clothes for years. Be the person at the party who’s not just another copy-paste of whatever Instagram shoved down our throats last week. Because at the end of the day, the hottest accessory isn't a golden Labubu or the latest “it” bag — it’s individuality. And no one can fast-fashion that.

Sarah Houston