I m someone who tries very hard—at everything. In fact, very few things have ever come naturally to me, if at all. So when a friend remarked a few months ago that she found my style "trendy," it felt like a gut punch. She had called out the secret I had for so long attempted to conceal—that my style is born from effort— thus implying that the way I dress is somewhat contrived. (At least that’s what I took away from the comment.) I’ve always put immense thought into what I wear, and the remark made me question whether effort itself was inherently a flaw, proof that I wasn’t naturally stylish, or didn’t have an innate sense of taste that made it look easy.
The idea that style should be effortless—that it should simply exist without labor or consideration—has long been a prevailing narrative in fashion. For decades, the industry has co-opted the idea that true style is instinctual and immune to overthinking, but we can purchase our way into effortlessness with a few key pieces that brands and editors encourage us to buy. The off-duty model, the chic Parisian, and the elusive "cool girl" all serve as archetypes reinforcing the belief that style is something one simply has. But if there’s one thing the current era of fashion discourse has revealed, it’s that effortlessness is often an illusion. Style, as it turns out, is work.
While the fashion industry has long upheld effortless style as the gold standard, the rise of transparency-driven content and the visibility of personal style journeys has complicated this narrative. Recently, discourse on TikTok has taken off as people push the idea that personal style isn’t innate but rather shaped by hobbies, lived experiences, and intentional exploration. Many have encouraged others to lean into their unique journeys, explaining that personal style is a reflection of trial and error, not just an inherent gift. Research supports this idea: a study by Richard N. Cardozo on consumer satisfaction found that the more time someone spends towards achieving a certain goal, the greater their attachment to it. This concept extends to personal style, where intentional effort enhances the sense of satisfaction and connection to our choices.
"The biggest thing you can invest into your personal style is actually time,” explains creator and fashion analyst Mandy Lee. “Because you cannot just go and haul your way into having style. You can t Pinterest your way into having a style that reflects who you are and that you re comfortable with day in and day out. It just doesn t work that way. It takes time to figure out what you like. And it takes time, a lot of time, a lifetime, really, to actually curate those pieces and that vibe into your wardrobe." Historically, the prevailing belief in fashion was that trying too hard made style contrived, that true fashion icons simply had it. But this notion ignores a fundamental truth: even the most revered figures in fashion history were shaped by mentorship and an active pursuit to learn. As creator Jalil Johnson notes. "All these women and men we consider icons? They learned from others. They evolved."
So why is it then that we continue to feign nonchalance when it comes to personal style? Could it be that we’re afraid to fail and the idea of opting out of caring feels like a security blanket? Or perhaps the paradox lies in the way we equate effortlessness with exclusivity. To admit to trying is to admit that great style is accessible—that it can be studied and practiced—rather than something only a select few possess. "Effortlessness symbolizes the ultimate luxury,” shares personal stylist and writer Heather Hurst. “In a world where personal branding is super important, effortlessness represents an ability to rise above this culture of incessant optimization. Even if the look is carefully crafted, it still gives the illusion of not having to try, and that illusion is powerful."
This paradox becomes even more striking when we consider how effort in style is perceived across cultures. Imani Randolph, a model and creator, recalls her mom’s upbringing in the Bronx where effort wasn’t hidden, it was celebrated. "There were certain stylistic codes that were really present in that environment, like wearing gold jewelry, door knocker earrings, and embracing a more flashy aesthetic,” she explains. For them, Randolph noted, effort is not just about looking good—it s a sign of pride. Publicist Gia Kuan agrees, sharing that in cultures like early 20th-century Japan and China, effort was viewed as a habitual practice of refinement, not about appearing effortless. Nowadays, Kuan believes social media has exposed these rituals, shifting our understanding of what "effort" in style truly means.
Our current mindset on putting in effort further adds to this myth. Research suggests that individuals who believe skills like style are fixed—rather than developed—are less likely to invest effort into cultivating personal taste. If effort is seen as futile, it’s easier to lean into the idea that effortless style is something one either possesses or does not. Of course, there’s privilege wrapped up in the notion of effortless style, too.
Wealth, access, and time shape how one curates their look. "Women of a certain status have always had help curating their wardrobes," Johnson says, referencing personal stylists and inherited wardrobes. Privilege often manifests the most in the off-duty model aesthetic, a look deeply tied to Eurocentric beauty standards, that further pushes the narrative of unattainable ease. "The discourse of is it style or is she just skinny? exists for a reason," Hurst adds. "We’ve been trained to conflate thinness with good taste." That’s not to say that effortlessness is limited to a privileged background though. “My father has always had effortless style, and he grew up poor,” shares Kuan. “For him, effort came from observation, through watching films, and paying attention to culture.”
The same notion is true in the beauty space. As Randolph points out, there’s a pervasive narrative in certain beauty circles that is meant to be exclusionary. "People believe that you’re not naturally beautiful enough if you can’t throw on some lipstick, use it as blush, and walk out the door in five minutes." This idea clashes with the reality that effort and satisfaction are often intertwined. When we take the time to curate our wardrobe or refine a beauty routine, the payoff is a deeper sense of reward. It’s also what helps result in more confidence, which comes from taking the time to better understand ourselves by opting into the process.
The truth is, effort is always present, whether or not it’s visible. “It now takes me three to five minutes to select a look because I’ve already done the work in curating my wardrobe,” says Kuan. “The effort was already put in when I purchased the item and put it in my wardrobe.” Style is more than just dressing up; it’s about making a deliberate effort to connect with what resonates with you personally and wearing clothes that feel authentic to you. The best dressers never endorsed detachment, so why do we? After all, if we’re not putting intention behind our actions and choices, what is it all for?
Maybe, then, effort is what makes personal style meaningful. To care enough to seek out inspiration, to keep trying even when it doesn’t come naturally—because, oftentimes, very little does. Isn’t that what makes fashion (and life) fun? "I still play and experiment with my clothes," Johnson adds. "If getting dressed ever becomes purely regimented, that’s a problem. It’s my joy, that’s why I put time into it."