Things I Started Doing to Dress Like Myself Again

Style without the rules.

For a long time, I wasn’t dressing like me at all. I was stuck in a cycle of constant shopping, chasing the ‘perfect’ staples that promised to fix my wardrobe.

But I ended up dressing like someone I thought I should be. The version sold by fashion brands and fast fashion influencers with style rules that never quite made sense.

So I built myself a capsule wardrobe of neutral basics that technically matched but didn’t feel like me. The fun, the personality, all of it disappeared, replaced by safe, dull clothes that made getting dressed feel more like a chore than a choice.

What was meant to simplify my style ended up smothering everything that made it interesting.

It wasn’t just my wardrobe that suffered; it affected how I felt stepping out the door each morning. I wanted to look like myself again not just in what I wore, but in how I carried myself. Because, weirdly, the way you dress is a shorthand for how you feel about yourself.

I had to stop what wasn’t working and start doing what felt right. It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was slow, frustrating, and awkward. But it was necessary.

Here’s what I started doing to dress like myself again.

I Started Dressing by My Own Rules

I get why things like colour analysis, the 3 Word Method, and the Rule of Threes exist—they’re meant to give you some boundaries, a framework to make choosing what to wear less overwhelming. But to me, they always felt a bit too prescriptive. Like another set of boxes to tick. And when you treat style like a checklist, it quickly becomes dull, predictable, and suffocating.

Trying to lock your style down with three neat words—especially when you’re still figuring out what that even means—leaves no room to experiment or play. Colour analysis feels the same. Why stick to a palette someone else decided was “right” for you, especially if you don’t even like half the colours on it?

It’s like all those old-fashioned rules we scoff at now: matching your bag to your shoes, never mixing gold and silver, no more than two patterns, one statement piece only. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day people feel the same about describing their style with just a few words or sticking to an internet stranger’s colour chart.

Instead, I stopped trying to force my style into a specific category or give it a neat label. I let it be whatever it wanted to be. I trusted what I liked and started wearing what made me happy, and left the labels to whoever wanted to make sense of it.

I Paid Attention to How Clothes Made Me Feel

I stopped obsessing over how my outfits looked and started paying attention to how they made me feel.

Before, getting dressed was all about how clothes appeared: did they make me look taller, thinner, cooler, or more put together? Those worries didn’t say much about me. They were focused on an outside view, dressing for an audience rather than myself.

Now, I notice how clothes feel on my skin, how they move with me, and how they affect my mood. Instead of fixating on looking a certain way—tall or short, slim or bulky, put together or casual—I ask: how does this feel?

Do I want the crisp snap of cotton that feels fresh and sharp? Or the soft, textured weight of linen that drapes around me? Some days playful and cute, other days powerful and mysterious. Sometimes I need light and easy, other times, a little armour.

It’s a subtle difference—feeling versus looking—but a huge one. Dressing for how I wanted to feel didn’t just change my clothes, it made me more confident in myself, too.

Because dressing for how I want to feel connects me to my clothes in a way that dressing for how I want to look never did. It’s less about performing for anyone else and more about showing up as myself, without compromise.

That shift changed everything. It gave me permission to bring new clothes into my wardrobe that expressed all my different moods, making my clothes less about fitting a single image and more about expressing all the sides of me.

I Created Style “Anchors”

Once I started paying close attention to my favourite outfits, I began to notice the threads that connect them all. Those fits, colours, or shapes that consistently feel like me became my style anchors: my personal constants in an ever-evolving wardrobe.

Maybe it’s a particular silhouette, or a go-to colour. Maybe it’s the length of a skirt or the cut of a trouser. For me, it’s things like big collars, voluminous sleeves, and waistlines that cinch.

Finding these anchors made dressing a whole lot easier. Suddenly, I had a reliable base to build from, which gave me the freedom to experiment without losing myself in the process.

Instead of listening to what other people said would “flatter” my body or fit some arbitrary style ideal, I tuned into my own preferences. I realised what makes my style mine.

I love highlighting my hourglass shape. I’m drawn to embroidered details, soft fabrics, and a colour palette heavy on black, green, and gingham. Dresses with cinched waists and A-line skirts. Barrel-leg trousers and midaxi lengths. I adore fun prints and silly graphics, too. I want to look smart but with a sense of humour.

Identifying these style anchors gave me my own set of personal “rules” (and I say that very loosely) and a foundation I can trust. That foundation lets me take risks and try new things without losing touch with my personal style.

I Made Space for Fun in My Wardrobe

After years of trying to dress “right”—in versatile basics, in neutral colours, in combinations that could be summed up in three neat words—I forgot fashion is supposed to be fun.

I convinced myself that if I followed all the rules, I’d unlock the perfect wardrobe. One that mixed and matched effortlessly. One that was practical, cohesive, and functional. But in trying so hard to get it right, I forgot to enjoy it.

I held back on wearing things I liked because I never saw anyone else wearing them. I’d scroll through photos of people in the same oatmeal jumpers, linen trousers, trench coats, and wonder why none of it felt like me. And worse, I’d start to question whether my style was wrong because it didn’t look like everyone else’s.

That’s the problem with trying to dress like a mood board or a three-word formula: it might look good, but it rarely feels like you. Unless you have zero personality, those carefully curated outfits don’t say much beyond “I saw this online and copied it.” That’s fine if you want convenience but it’s not exactly personal. Or creative.

I let go of the idea that everything I bought had to “go with everything else.” That it had to match, make sense, or be, above all else, versatile. Because what I really wanted to wear was the playful, unexpected pieces. The fun things that didn’t fit anyone else’s capsule wardrobe but made me feel like myself.

Once I started to dress for happiness—not style formulas or capsule wardrobe rules—getting dressed became fun again.

I Started Documenting My Outfits

Even though I’ve had a style blog for years, I rarely took photos of my actual outfits. I documented capsule wardrobes, not day-to-day looks. It wasn’t something I felt drawn to—until I joined TikTok.

I started sharing my houseplants, but one outfit video posted on a whim got some attention. Then another. And another. Ever since, I’ve kept documenting.

Whether it was photos, videos, or digital graphics, capturing my outfits as a personal archive helped me spot patterns, rediscover forgotten favourites, and see what my style really looks like day-to-day.

This accidental habit shifted not only how I saw my wardrobe but how I saw myself.

We all have a mental image of what we look like. Often, that image is shaped by old photos, feelings, or assumptions about how others see us. But taking a photo or video gives you just enough distance to see it more clearly—the outfit, your body—without so much judgement.

You don’t have to post it. You don’t have to make it a “thing.” But documenting your outfits—even privately—gives you perspective. You start to see shapes that suit you, outfits you repeat, colours you return to. The things that feel most like you.

It’s not about curating the perfect outfit. It’s about understanding yourself better. And sometimes, that’s all it takes to change how you dress and how you feel in your clothes.

The only way to find your personal style is to live in your clothes. It’s daily habits, honest reflection, and lots of trial and error. There is no magic formula.

Nothing I did was particularly groundbreaking. But it was enough to get me dressing like myself again. And that feels pretty damn good.

Because dressing like yourself isn’t about rules or labels. It’s about paying attention. Trusting your gut. Wearing what feels right—even if it doesn’t make sense on paper.

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