is there a difference between being fashionable and stylish?

not as much as you think

(Iris Apfel at O Cinema Miami Beach to present IRIS. Photo credit: Albert Maysles)

Hi. It’s bit too late to say compliments of the new season, but I’d like to wish whoever reads this a Happy New Year. I hope 2023 is kind to you. So I actually began writing this piece last August, but for some reason, I found it impossible to finish. In fact, that’s sort of been happening with a couple of pieces I’ve earmarked for this blog. When it came to this one, I found myself going on longer and weirder tangents than I normally do. I stressed over certain paragraphs and just made things far more complicated for myself than they needed to be. It’s been a big theme throughout my so-called writing career — all these jittery self-doubts. I also suspect it’s been exacerbated by the precariousness of being a writer, but what’s new lol?

If you’re someone who has to write around their 9 to 5, you often feel like you don’t have the luxury to waste words or time. And that can add some unnecessary pressure to what already feels like a pointless endeavour. What’s helped me get over this a little was this Max Read essay on The Washington Post profile of Matt Yglesias. He bases the piece around a remark Yglesias makes when asked how he handles all the blowback he gets on the internet: “I put things out. People yell at me. I will write again the next day”.

It should be the most natural and obvious way for any writer to deal with whatever is thrown their way. But it’s easy to get bogged down by how depressing the media landscape is, the ease with which you can be cancelled over a callous misreading of your work, the content creator-fication of an actual fucking craft etc etc. All of that can make the prospect of disappearing into an idea for weeks, months and sometimes even years very appealing. But the Yglesias comment was a necessary kick up the ass for me. Yeah publications are run by dweebs, yeah people could cancel you because of their own media illiteracy, yeah there are identity racketeers, charlatans and content creators making a killing with schmaltzy stories and mediocre prose. But that isn’t an excuse not to write. So just get on with it. Anyway, here’s the product of my pep talk. Enjoy!

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Sometime last year, a clip of Iris Apfel made the rounds on Instagram where she made the distinction between being fashionable and stylish. “You can easily buy your way into being fashionable but style is in your DNA," Apfel said, in a raspy drawl befitting of a woman who came of age during the heyday of indoor smoking. Initially, I was sold on her observation – so much so that I reposted it to my stories like all the other clotheshorses I follow on my alt account. Throughout my life, I’ve repeated some version of this idea, starting from as early as Grade 7, when I claimed that “good style is something you are born with” in a speech for English class.

I’m not sure when I first heard it or what gave me the confidence to repeat such an obnoxious statement in front of my peers. I probably stole it from one of the judges on America’s Next Top Model, or a judgemental stylist on How Do I Look?. Either way, the concept of style as a magical phenomenon that occurs on a cellular level has always resonated with me. The reasons for this vary between vanity, arrogance and a desire to feel special, as embarrassing as that might be. There’s a part of me that enjoys the idea of thinking I have something elusive gift that others don’t, that takes comfort in knowing I don’t need to follow trends to feel cool. While I may scoff at people who believe their eye for fashion is some god-given talent, I’ve also fallen victim to seeing the way I choose to dress that way, adopting the same attitude as snooty fashion people who conflate meanness with taste. 

Admittedly, this is a rather cynical way of looking at the thesis Apfel puts forth in that video. To her credit, the clip went viral because she captured the frustrations of a generation exhausted by microtrends and the tedious names given to them (party girl, regencycore, cottagecore, weird girl, bimbocore, barbiecore, ballerina sleaze etc etc). Whether they’re the participants or masterminds, this approach is not at all sustainable — not for the environment, the English language, or the impressionable young minds neutering their attention spans on TikTok.

However, at first glance, it may seem like Apfel and the microtrenders share the same irreverent “more is more” philosophy. Some of the previous year’s microtrends, such as the anti-clean-girl “frazzled English woman”, seemed to champion a devil-may-care, wear-what-you-want ethos that sounded Apfellian. However, regardless of what their quirky names and renegade objectives may suggest, following these microtrends requires a contrived carefreeness and an unusual sensitivity to fads and the fear of being left behind by them, two approaches which Apfel steadfastly opposes.

It also seems rather joyless to think about changing your clothes that often. Gone are the days when a wardrobe overhaul was triggered by a major life event like a break-up, change in location or a general dissatisfaction with life. Now, just about anything can spark these intense transformational spurts which, in turn, lose their meaning. In principle, this type of experimenting should be fun and exciting. But when done so frequently, along with real or perceived consequences for those who fail to keep up, they start to feel like more of a chore than an adventure.

On the other hand, Apfel’s approach to style is liberating and unpredictable, even if you don’t care for any of her outfits. In some corners of the internet, she might be described as a devout follower of “dopamine dressing”, another fashion trend with a ridiculous name. But Apfel’s sensibility doesn't feel like a salve or cure. Frankly, it’s far too interesting to be treated like some form of medicine. Instead, she embodies the best qualities of maximalism, a philosophy that, when practised intuitively, encourages curiosity, acceptance and embraces all the things which make people feel alive. When I look at her, I see a real joy in the way she combines different textures, colours, metals and prints. It’s like watching a kid playing around with paint for the first time, the innocent delight of it all. Like many great sartorialists, Apfel’s individuality feels thoroughly earned and decadently personal, carrying the fingerprints of someone who’s committed themselves to the pursuit of experience and pleasure. 

So why, then, am I sceptical of her authoritative take on being fashionable and stylish? The reasons are twofold. Firstly, I don’t think many of us appreciate how well the fashion industry has been able to sell the cult of individuality to us. We’ve been told over and over again that style is the highest expression of our identities, that it’s essential to how we communicate who we are to the world. This is especially the case for marginalised communities who've created subcultures that agitated against the establishment, created new expressions of art, and pioneered new aesthetics.

But let’s face it: how many of us are dressing with such virtuous intentions? How many of us are thinking about the greater good when it comes to the clothes we select to represent us to the world? It’s become all too easy for people with multiple identity markers to portray their sartorial flair as underground activism, miscasting the personal rewards they receive from being fashionable as collective ones. While it might be empowering to have your interests championed by people who look like you, we should be wary of allowing the fashion industry to capitalise off of the outsider status these communities have occupied to encourage consumption.

Secondly, there’s some hypocrisy embedded in the financially-driven critiques of being trendy. For those who see it as a less sustainable approach to fashion, the distinction is meant to criticise buying practices which support the fast fashion industry, while shading those who allegedly don’t have a distinct personal style. But the pursuit of stylishness can become a cash trap of its own. If being stylish is understood in strictly mystical, woo-woo terms, people will resort to the earthly means to acquire what they weren’t supposedly born with. And that’ll most likely involve throwing money at what seems like a failure of biology. Plus, employing a pseudo-Darwinist definition of style reinforces an elitism which the fashion world has long been guilty of, raising the question whether this multi-billion-dollar industry’s appeal is dependent on championing one group of people at the expense of another.

Some weeks after the Iris Apfel video, I watched a vlog of a young woman from LA who took a trip to New York City that triggered an “identity crisis”. She felt intimidated by all the beautiful, stylish and impossibly self-possessed people walking down the streets as if they owned the whole block, causing her to wonder whether she’d ever cultivate her own style. Though she was only in the city for a couple of weeks, she felt doomed to her current look, which consisted of random thrifted finds (perfectly fine fyi) and whatever hip fast fashion item was all the rage online. 

I’ll confess that my sympathy for this young woman was tested when she revealed she was only 19. It’s incredibly maddening to think society can make someone so young believe they’ve failed because they haven’t found their signature style yet. I remember feeling similarly inadequate and confused at that age, but the pressures on young people are far more intense than the ones I had to face. Not only do they have to be hot, cool and supernaturally youthful, but they also have to find a “unique” style with the potential of turning into a niche microtrend.

While I can identify with the desire to discover yourself through fashion, there appears to be an expectation for younger people to figure out their personal style as soon as they leave the womb. Regardless of what I felt about my style growing up, I never doubted I’d find it one day. Even if it meant going through cringeworthy phases and questionable trends, I had a hunch it would bring me closer to the style I’d have for a good portion of my life. I still believe that to be the case. And thankfully, I’ve also come to understand that changing your style doesn’t have to involve a total wardrobe overhaul. It can simply mean pairing items that you normally wouldn’t think to pair together, including an accessory in your everyday look, or going against rigid fashion rules you once forbade yourself from breaking.

That said, it can be difficult to resist the temptation to lean on fast fashion to get to grips with what you like. I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t spend hours at malls as a university student, scraping through the sales rack of popular high street brands for items I believed would rejuvenate my closet. In fact, one of the main reasons I became an avid thrifter was because I couldn’t buy fast fashion unless it was massively discounted. I thank my lucky stars that Shein peaked in popularity long after I left university otherwise I would’ve been severely fucked. 

So how then can a 19-year-old vlogger, for instance, build their personal style in such a chaotically oversaturated fashion environment? A few years ago, I would’ve told them to do some research into past decades to find out what silhouette, colour, cut or pattern jibed with them. But given how this kind of archival browsing has led to pantomimic fads like the ones mentioned above, it’s best to park that advice to the side. If millennials and Zoomers have shown the world anything, it’s that they cannot channel nostalgia sensibly. 

In my leisurely search for answers, I came across another Apfel observation which spoke to how someone can approach the quest to find their own style:

"To find out who you are is like putting yourself on a psychiatric couch, but you have nobody to help you. Really it isn’t easy. I was talking with my nephew this morning and he gave me one of the best quotes I’ve heard in years, ‘Personal style is curiosity about oneself.'”

The last line is perhaps the most instructive, especially for people looking to divest from chasing trends and decide on what they like. It goes without saying that this sort of advice isn’t relevant to those who aren't interested in cultivating their own style — a commendable attitude to have, imo. But if you’re someone who is concerned about whether you’ll ever find your look, even if it’s to help inoculate yourself from the pressure to be a trend-fiend, perhaps try to figure out who you are and enjoy how that long, unpredictable but possibly gratifying process influences the type of clothes you gravitate towards. It might not work out, but at least it’s a start. 

Some things I liked:

• I don’t know where I’ve been for the past couple of years, but Jessica DeFino’s Substack on the beauty industry is brilliant. I could list every article as a favourite, but it’s best you subscribe if you haven’t because it’s that good. What I enjoy the most about her work is that she doesn’t preach what she doesn’t practise. She isn’t lambasting the comical fear of ageing then refusing to critique women who choose to “fight” it. She’s someone who, at the moment at least, isn’t trying to preserve her youth because it’s absurd, time-consuming and biologically impossible. And she believes we should all divest from the bullshit too.

• Towards the end of the year, I watched (and re-watched) Netflix’s Is That Black Enough For You?!?, Elvis Mitchell’s a documentary film essay on the Blaxploitation movies of the 70s. Though I think the Netflix model for documentaries doesn’t allow for more interesting and unexpected forms of storytelling, I really enjoyed this. One of my favourite lines from the film was Harry Belafonte’s “Fuck you, I’m going to Paris”.

• I’m late to the party but Lucia Berlin’s collection of short stories, A Manual for Cleaning Women. is absolutely lovely. I’m fascinated by writers and artists who spent much of their lives working blue-collar jobs, either receiving acclaim later on in life or upon death. Berlin became a bestseller 11 years ago her death which is wild to think about.

• Again, late to this, but Searching for Sugar Man, also on Netflix, is a wonderful documentary about how an overlooked folk singer Rodriguez worked blue-collar jobs in his native Detroit, until he was discovered by of his biggest fans in South Africa, where he had a massive following among the white, liberal middle class music fans in the 1970s. Historically, there were some things the documentary skipped over, which makes since given that it was made in 2012. It’s still a solid watch. I experienced waves of nostalgia watching South Africa in the 90s, 00 and 10s. It’s a much different place now, that’s for sure.

• A song that’s been resonating with me lately is “Lost in Music” by Sister Sledge off of the album We Are Family, which celebrated its 44th birthday the other day.