My personal style became one of fashion’s hottest trends — and I hated it

When Vogue.com published an article last November titled “The Row’s Margaux bag is a future heirloom in the making,” I knew what was coming. Those of us who follow the label, a minimalist brand founded by former actors Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen in 2006, shared a collective sigh of disappointment when, within days, said bag, a soft but structured top-handle style with elegant buckles on its gusseted side panels, was next to impossible to purchase. Our trail of breadcrumbs had been found.
We’d seen signs that the trend cycle was coming for us. One was season four of the pop-culture phenomenon television series Succession, which was released earlier in the year and ushered in the now overused term, “quiet luxury.” Its aesthetic – timeless, understated and neutral without any loud logos or patterns – already existed but giving the look a proper name called attention to it and reduced it to a paradox. In the span of six months, the veil was lifted on the personal style I’d been stealthily developing for years and all I had left was my Margaux bag – and then they came for that too.
To my followers on Instagram and YouTube, it’s no secret that I’m a fan of the Row. With its effortless vibe, the brand checks off most of my wardrobe requirements, though I’m still sore about the prices. It offers an edge that’s unlike many legacy luxury houses: relaxed, oversized, androgynous and mostly black.
It’s taken me decades to cultivate these preferences. In my formative years, I never missed an episode of Fashion Television and pored over magazines, compiling clippings in scrapbooks that still serve as outfit references. My style has seen numerous iterations, from preppy to bohemian and, now, modern minimalism. Ironically, I owe the latter, in part, to a corporate career I loathed.
It was the 1990s, the height of minimalism, and I was in my 20s working at a public accounting firm where the corporate dress code called for tailored suiting. That era left an indelible impression on me and pared-back pieces still comprise much of my wardrobe. I recently completed a closet inventory and, even as a self-aware collector, the sheer volume of clothing surprised me. That decade in finance did nothing to dull my deep-seated desire for fashion.
Style is innate for some of us. Though mine is mostly intuitive, the time I spent buried in fashion publications played an important role in revealing my sartorial Zen. The fashion industry today, fueled by social media, reaches a much broader audience at an ever-hastened pace and the luxury of time for self-discovery has all but vaporized. Between the copious consumption of content and platforms shifting as swiftly as you can swipe, one viral moment can change the landscape and there’s no time to digest it.
I’m not easily unmoored but having current trends align with my taste tugged at my anchor. What I love about minimalism is that it is (or, perhaps, was) the antithesis of conspicuity. I was eager to differentiate – and not just for differentiation’s sake. I needed to stray from the murmuring flock and regroup.
A moment when popular culture overlaps a little too much with your personal sense of style is the perfect opportunity to revisit old ideas, formulate new ones and rebrand. The good news is that I have plenty to work with, starting with the items at the back of my closet. I’m still holding on to my tempered template but I’m adding in other elements. I’m playing with pops of colour, experimenting with layers and working through my treasure chest of archival Dries Van Noten scarves and other vintage pieces. My old Balenciaga bags have moved forward and my Margaux bags are hanging back. Subtle changes are best because, as much as this challenge requires a revamping of sorts, I’m unwilling to sacrifice my entire style DNA.
While I’m enjoying this holiday from homogeneity, idling with my Margauxs and waiting for quiet luxury to quiet down, I’ve been creating more freely and authentically, from a personal place without outside influence. Thankfully, fads recycle. Like all good trends, this too shall pass.