Style Authority Is a Lie

The churn of fashion depends on experts. But who's actually qualified to dictate trends?

Every couple of months, the internet decides something is dead and something else is the hot new thing. Chore coats, for example. Up until a few years ago, they were “essential.” Heritage workwear was the uniform of every self-professed style guy who had previously been obsessed with streetwear or (in my case) tailoring. People engulfed in the scene quickly moved on to cropped jackets like denim truckers and Carhartt Detroit jackets.

A.Presse makes these hoodies with an unwearably small hood.

It’s almost funny, the speed with which these “takes” age. Not that long ago, people swore the pinnacle of style was a Japanese label reissuing American vintage silhouettes at ten times the price. Selvedge denim begat other workwear replicas, World War II-era reproductions, and eventually, meticulously pre-distressed sweatshirts with tiny, unwearable hoods made in the best mills money could buy. The suggestion was that this was the “correct” version of style: American design perfected elsewhere, priced high enough to prove it. Now? Even those brands feel trapped in amber—just another stop on the carousel of “in” and “out.”

Is this in style? Out of style? Worth $1100? Whose place is it to say? Yours or someone else’s?

This cycle depends on authority. Someone has to tell you that chore coats are dead. Someone has to bless the $1100 repro chore coat. Without the performance of authority, the churn stops. But those “authorities” don’t actually exist. At best, they’re just overly opinionated people with specific preferences (like me). At worst, they’re complicit mouthpieces for the industry’s endless need to sell you something new.

The structures at play are the same ones that undergird fashion itself: capitalism, class signaling, and the desire to belong. If no one’s buying, their system collapses. So the industry frames taste as a hierarchy. Editors, designers, influencers—each positioned as arbiters of the “right” thing to wear at any given moment. Their authority is a marketing tool. Their opinions are essentially sales pitches masked as commandments.

You can see this logic clearly in The Devil Wears Prada. There’s that famous monologue about the “cerulean” sweater—the idea that even if you think you’re out of fashion, your choices are still dictated by it. Andy Sachs doesn’t believe she consciously chose fashion, but she’s still implicated, still a downstream consumer of trends and cycles and “decisions made by the people in this room.” The point of the speech is to underscore fashion’s reach: there’s no opting out. And in a way, that’s true—clothes are a system of signs. They say things whether we intend them to or not. But here’s where I diverge: being “out of touch” isn’t a failure. It’s often a strength.

The chronically trend-averse Sid Mashburn in a photo that could have been taken in 2007, 2016, or 2025.

The people who ignore trend cycles entirely—the ones who wear the same jacket for 20 years, or buy their shirts from the same place their dad did, or thrift whatever feels comfortable—are often the most grounded. Their style grows out of habit, values, and daily life, not the industry’s churn. It might look “dated” to a certain kind of insider, but it’s coherent, individual, even refreshing. There’s no pretense, no need for validation.

Meanwhile, the so-called authorities look more like weather vanes than prophets. One day, they declare workwear the pinnacle of true style; the next, they’re embarrassed by it. It seems like just yesterday the industry decided slim trousers were dead; now those on the fringe are telling you wide trousers are already over. Authority dissolves the moment you realize it’s just taste in motion, constantly repositioned for clicks, engagement, or sales.

I like L’Etiquette Magazine as a reference point because they show real people in their own clothing.

That doesn’t mean guidance is worthless. Style is a language, and it can help to have a teacher when you’re learning the basics. But let’s call it what it is: guidance, not gospel. Because the real authority isn’t out there, it’s in you. You can study what others say, borrow what resonates, ignore what doesn’t. You can experiment, shift, and refine. But your foundation—what feels right, what aligns with your values, what you actually live in—is stronger than any editorial trend piece or TikTok style dump.

If the industry insists you’re always behind, always in need of catching up, maybe the best thing for you is not catching up at all. Maybe the healthiest thing you can do is realize that the authority is a lie, and that you never needed permission in the first place.