Discussing the Binary between “Good” and “Bad” Style

By: Devon Lee

The other day I was asked my opinion on a black wool-cashmere blend coat from Max Mara. The material was soft against my fingers, and the silhouette hugged my friend’s form like a hand in a glove. The craftsmanship of the piece was undeniably evident in both material and design. It was a piece that suited her. I complimented her on how stunning it looked, but she opted for the trendy camel-silk blend teddy bear coat instead. “This one is more unique,” she explained with a hint of justification. 

As we stepped out of the store, my friend clutched her shopping bag, seeking reassurance about her purchase. “If you’re not going to value my opinion, then why ask?” I inquired. She smiled and replied that it was precisely because she admired my taste and trusted my judgment that she seeked my approval. I was flattered, but I told her that my approval didn’t matter as long as she liked it. I believe that fashion is ultimately about function and personal style, rather than simply following the opinions of others. 

That seemingly simple moment sparked my reflection on the contemporary dilemma of good and bad taste. Who determines these standards, and why do we feel compelled to adhere to them?

I am fervently against the disparaging of trends and style. Today, a keen sense of fashion or any art form is not merely about sharing innocent style tips as it often involves those in power asserting their interpretations and perspectives as universally accepted truths. 

We’ve all felt a sting when those self-proclaimed arbiters of “good” taste belittle something we cherish. There’s a world of difference between highlighting a gap in someone’s style as an opportunity for growth and using that gap to make them feel inferior to you.

Art and expression are often grounded in the systemic frameworks established by traditionalist academies that regard their standards as authoritative. Figures like Anna Wintour, editor-in-chief of the largest global fashion magazine in the world, Vogue, have wielded significant power and influence, dictating the trends and success of designers for the past few decades. 

However, this power imbalance has become more democratized as influencers and individuals sharing content online play a pivotal role in shaping fashion discourse. While this shift in power is revolutionary for media and art, the underlying arrogance surrounding style and trends endures—and has only intensified.

This air of arrogance and self-proclaimed superiority in fashion has become increasingly pronounced, fueled by our growing reliance on social media and influencers. As a result, it now transcends any single niche of style. Even the seemingly “underground” and rebellious side of the fashion industry holds an immense affectation that is tantamount to the pretension of the luxury rim. Niches are still organized divisions of style arranged on a systemic scale. The mere belief that you are fundamentally different from others is a subtle form of pretension. To distinguish oneself is to engage in comparison, and comparison inevitably invites a hierarchy of better and worse.

This raises an intriguing question: can fashion truly exist without the dichotomy of good and bad taste? Can it stand as its own entity, independent of the metrics that seem so inherently tied to it? Is it possible for style to simply be style, devoid of comparison?

Style is not a singular entity and cannot serve as a yardstick for claiming superiority over others as it is the culmination of various influences around us. The very clothes you wear today are rooted in someone else’s vision. Thus, style is not predetermined; it is a culmination of multivalent influences from various artists and individuals. This reveals that the personal styles used to belittle others are shaped by external sources, ultimately undermining the authority of those who claim to define “good” taste. 

In this modern age, style lacks uniqueness. What we perceive as individuality often connects us to a larger community. In our quest to stand out, we inevitably find ourselves grouped into seemingly “unique” niches. Wearing all black, for instance, doesn’t denote difference; in New York City, it reflects our shared identity, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. This has evolved into an unwritten rule, a subtle rebellion against the traditionally revered Anna Wintour, known for her infamous disdain for “head-to-toe black.” I believe many of us have overlooked the fact that conformity and unity share a common thread of togetherness. Conformity is often misunderstood, and it remains an inevitable aspect of our existence.

Ultimately, people don’t—and shouldn’t—worry about what others think, especially when it concerns standing out. If we continue to allow ourselves to be enveloped by the fear of criticism and compelled to engage in conceited attempts to prove some form of primacy, individuality, by the very act of communal assertions of superiority, will seemingly die when it never existed at all. 
By engaging in these collective claims of primacy, we diminish the very essence of individuality, revealing that it was never truly present to begin with.