A few weeks ago, I started following a popular trend-focused personal stylist’s IG account. I found her through social media “mutuals” — i.e. people I follow reposted her content — and was intrigued, mostly by her general approach. You know, the “hot, not hot” and “this, not that” style of fashion blogging that seems to be popular on Tik Tok (don’t know her!) and slowly seeping into older corners of the internet (hello, it’s me!). I say “intrigued” because this is not something I’m interested in doing, but I enjoy rubbernecking when others do it. Anyway, I think I might need to unfollow.

It’s not for the reasons you probably think. It’s not because of my lukewarm interest in this account’s raison d’etre (trends). Nor because I’ve seen myself reflected in the “not hot” carousels. No, it’s because I am finding myself being pulled, ever so slowly but surely, towards an aesthetic that I do not want to pursue. If I keep watching these stories, I’m going to wake up one day in February looking like Hailey Bieber, and that is something I do not want to countenance.

The reason I am writing this post is not to sh*t on Hailey Bieber or popular IG stylists; what I actually want to talk about, in maybe a roundabout way, is how I navigate style inspo in the realm of social media, and how I curate my social media feed to serve me in the ways I need, and not the ones I don’t.

I don’t know how common this is, but I am a ruthless social media curator. Even after 10 years on IG, I still don’t follow a ton of accounts — around 300 at last count. Some of those are friends and family, some are what I would broadly categorize as entertainment accounts (everything from pop culture memes to my favourite museum), some are “trusted sources” (social activists, news media, etc.), and some are of course, fashion related. This is a mix of mostly “small” personal style bloggers like myself, a few “bigger” influencers, some brands, and some industry accounts like Diet Prada. Except for folks I know, I feel no obligation to keep following accounts if they start to annoy me, or if their content is no longer of interest. It’s a 3 strikes rules: three annoying posts and I unfollow.

When it comes to fashion though, it can get a little bit more complicated. Here, I mainly have 2 red flags. One, I do not follow accounts that give me FOMO. As a person who loves beautiful things but tries to be mindful about consumption, FOMO is my Achilles heel. It is better for me not to know about all the beautiful things out there — I will find plenty of them on my own and struggle to contain my impulses, without help from anyone else. Now, you might think this is why I don’t follow a lot of big influencers. Wrong. Most rich people buy stuff that doesn’t interest me. I wouldn’t follow, say, a Housewife of Insert-Metropolis-Of-Your-Choice-Here because I am not interested in the content, not because of FOMO. But FOMO is why I can’t follow, say, Carla Rockmore. She is a maximalist whose taste and interests align almost entirely with mine, but with a budget (and closet) I couldn’t dream of replicating. I enjoy watching her content in small doses — people keep sending me her posts, bless them, because they think I would enjoy it and that is true but the problem is I enjoy it TOO MUCH — yet I know that if I watched it every day, it would make me want to Buy. All. The. Things.

The other red flag is when I start to feel myself wanting to copy what someone else is wearing. Time to immediately unfollow! Ok, you might be thinking: Adina, what ARE you talking about? Isn’t that what “style inspo” is all about? NO. Not to me, anyway. My favourite fashion accounts are those whose perspective on style I admire but don’t feel a desire to imitate. They make me think about how outfits are put together, about colours and proportions, about style as a language. They give me ideas for creating my own looks … but the key is that they are informing my own expression, not dictating it.

I generally don’t follow people who have the same exact aesthetic that I am pursuing at any given moment; I prefer to follow people with a broad range of aesthetics (some of which may align with some facets of my own, some which are wholly outside my box) and get bits of inspiration from all of them. For me, personal style is the alchemy that happens when you digest a lot of inspiration from many disparate sources (fashion history, magazines, social media, people on the street, books, art, etc.) and create your own story out of it. It’s why, as I have gotten older, I have moved away from the concept of “fashion icons” — the idea that there is any individual worth imitating in something as personal as style is anathema to me.

But it can get tricky. If someone has a very strong and unique point of view and is very eloquent in expressing it — in other words, has great personal style — I can become susceptible to the allure of imitation. Sometimes, it doesn’t even take that much; sometimes, all it takes is an easily-digestible aesthetic consistently messaged and positioned as hyper desirable — which brings me back to the IG account I mentioned at the beginning of the post. Show me enough photos of Hailey Bieber captioned as the embodiment of cool, and after a few weeks I might start to believe that an oversized blazer will change my life. EVEN THOUGH I HAVE WIDE SHOULDERS AND THIS WILL MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A LINEBACKER! Ahem.

If the person who’s making me want to turn copycat is someone whose content I otherwise enjoy (or whose relationship I value), then I would not immediately unfollow; rather, I might take a step back from their content for a little while, until the feeling passes. Trinny Woodall often falls into this category for me. I enjoy her “Closet Confessions” and the way she analyzes and talks about style, and find it both interesting and helpful. Our styles do not align very closely, although there is some overlap (we both love colour, for example). But every so often, I start to feel like one or both of my red flags are waving with Trinny. She does frequent Zara “shop-ups” and if I watch too many of them, I can start to get retail FOMO — the worst kind of FOMO there is. (But not always; sometimes, it’s nice to be shown what’s out there in stores, and get ideas for what to pull from the back of my closet and wear again, in new ways). It’s the same with the outfits she wears. Most of the time, I appreciate her POV and find it inspiring. But sometimes, I notice that I am suddenly putting together “Trinny” outfits, and I know I’ve crossed the line and it’s time to put her account on “ignore” for a bit until my head clears.

So much of it comes down to a gut feeling. I choose not to engage with content that makes me feel frantic, or makes me feel as though fulfillment is something positioned outside of my own self. I know that feeling even before I’ve had time to process what is happening. And I am convinced that learning to recognize it and be guided by it has been a hugely positive influence on my personal style (and mental health, too). So I guess what I am telling you is to not let social media dictate your personal style, but to dictate what social media is allowed into the conversation around your personal style.

But, you know, I am not dictating that or anything 😉

Details: COS sweater, H&M Studio skirt (both thrifted), Zara boots (retail)

Thoughts: I decided to pair these 2 pieces because the patterns struck me as sort of similar, with the through-line of orange as a cohesive element. I think it was a successful experiment! I’m glad I went with an outside-the-box pairing, since my default for this skirt would be black and white pieces. I am still figuring out if the skirt is a “forever” piece for my closet, but I am enjoying what it brings to the table at this moment.

Details: Tabi sweater, Ralph Lauren skirt, Fluevog shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I loved this outfit even more than I thought I would, and I knew it would be a good one because I love both of these pieces a lot — separately and, evidently, also together. There is something about pairings of contrasting black-and-white patterns that feels very satisfying to me right now. And, of course, floral and plaid is always a winning pattern mix.

Details: Joie sweater, Tommy Hilfiger jeans, Office London boots (all secondhand), Amaryllis coat (retail)

Thoughts: Winter casual at its best. This sweater continues to disappoint quality-wise (it is already pilling) but it is so fun to wear. As you know, I find colours to be mood-enhancing, especially on cold, grey winter days. The other elements of this outfit are all unqualified successes, though. We know this coat; it’s 6 (7?) years old and still going strong. The jeans are my new go-to — the kick flare is perfect with winter boots. Speaking of which, this Office London pair was a great find. They have a nice, grippy bottom (a mini lug sole) and walkable heel which makes them perfect for errands and outings that don’t involve a ton of outdoor trudging in snow (they don’t have enough insulation for that, though wearing them with a thick pair of socks makes them quite toasty).

Details: H&M dress, BCBG belt (both secondhand), Zara boots (retail)

Thoughts: If you’ve been around for a long time, you know how much I love a “potato sack” dress. They’re so fabulous! And comfortable! And easy to wear casual — full potato mode — or dressed up (half potato? lol). Case in point: add a belt (or harness!) and voila! The bold graphic print of this dress really appealed to me as well, and I think the colour palette offers interesting remixing options from my wardrobe. Picture this with a lavender sweater …

Details: Le Lis top, Holding Horses tunic, Topshop pants, Stuart Weitzman shoes (all thrifted), selfmade necklace

Thoughts: I love this colour palette of muted blues and terracotta brown. I also like the mix of plaid and windowpane patterns — both geometric but different.

Details: Eddie Bauer sweater, H&M dress, Mexx skirt, Geox boots (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I looooooooved wearing this outfit. It was shockingly warm too (I wore a coat over it). Layering the Mexx skirt under the tulle dress — and over some fleece leggings — kept my legs nice and toasty. I also had 3 layers on the top, but the one that really matters is this vintage Eddie Bauer sweater that I adore. This outfit was inspired by a 1980s Ralph Lauren look (what else) and has that Jo March-on-the-prairie vibe that I’ve been loving this year.

Details: Babaton turtleneck, Tommy Hilfiger cardigan, Denim & Supply jacket, H&M pants, Brave belt, Eileen Fisher shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: Once again, bringing the prairie/southwestern vibe into the winter season with some judicious layering. What I liked there was the different textures and contrasts — black cotton turtleneck, white chunky knit, patterned jacket. It gives depth and intentionality (is that a word??) to the outfit.

Details: Equipment shirt, Lord & Taylor sweater, Etro skirt, LAMB coat, Office London boots (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I took advantage of some warmer weather to wear one of my lighter winter coats, this fabulous plaid number. I used some of the colours in that pattern — yellow and olive, to be precise — to guide the rest of my outfit-building. It was a bit of a cheat, as I wore this sweater/skirt combo before, but it worked so well in this iteration too.

Today, I want to pull away from my usual topics and talk meta.

I started this blog in 2010, during the early-ish heydays of personal style blogging. Monetization was only just beginning to gain momentum, and sponsored posts were still a relative rarity. Almost from the beginning, I realized that blogging would not be a path to fame or fortune for me. As a former teenage wallflower, popularity was a tempting prospect, but it quickly became apparent that I did not have the temperament to pursue it in any meaningful way. Chalk it up to my internal push-and-pull of wanting to please people but also keep them at arm’s length and “do my own thing”. I am also not a natural salesperson; goodbye, sweet sponsorship money! I always feel responsible when people act on my recommendations – which is unreasonable but it is what it is – and I knew that adding financial incentives into the mix would only exacerbate that sense of responsibility. I don’t want to feel guilty if you buy a skirt and you end up hating it! So making the choice not to monetize – either through sponsorships or affiliate linking – was relatively easy. It is also worth mentioning that I was fortunate to have a day job that provided financial security, so I did not face other pressures or inducements to monetize in that fashion.

In the intervening years, the landscape of social media has changed tremendously. Blogging started to decline, and influencers were born. Side hustle culture became mainstream. While it seems like there is fatigue with traditional influencer monetization – i.e. sponsored ads and the like – monetization isn’t going anywhere.

I have never regretted not taking advantage of the sponsorship and blog monetization opportunities I’ve been offered over the years (or not trying to pursue others). My feelings about being a salesperson haven’t changed. I gave up chasing social media popularity entirely by making my main Instagram account private. To be perfectly honest, I thought I was “outside of it all” – immune to the lure of monetization, so to speak.  

Turns out, maybe I wasn’t.

Because while I didn’t monetize this space or my fashion blogging social media presence, I did monetize other parts of my life. I sell my art, even though I cannot price it in a manner that is truly reflective of the effort and skill that goes into it. I’ve talked about this before, but a big reason for that was the need to “legitimize” my art. I also, for a time, monetized my thrifting hobby by offering personal shopping packages. Why? Probably because I internalized that ubiquitous message that turning hobbies into side hustles is The Very Best Idea Ever. I was recently listening to an episode of the podcast Money Feels, in which the co-hosts (Bridget Casey and Alyssa Davies) made a very thought-provoking point: the push towards side hustles is a symptom of the financial insecurity which our capitalist system instills in people. That insecurity is very real for many people — caught up in the gig economy, low wage work, crippling student or medical debt, and so on — but it can also be a state of mind. The constant preoccupation with accumulation lest one fall behind or run out. In a way, this fear isn’t entirely unfounded either; most of us are a series of unfortunate incidents away from financial crisis in a society where social safety nets are shrinking by the day. [You know how it’s said that some people act like they are “temporarily impoverished millionaires”? It might be better if we all acted (and voted!) like “temporarily well-off paupers”. But now I am really digressing.]

In my case, while I am not suffering actual financial instability, I am still, clearly, prey to the scarcity mindset. Nowadays, I am trying to be more alert to that and its impacts on my decision-making — not only in relation to monetization of hobbies, but in general. As for my personal thrift shopping services? I stopped those a few years ago; the work stopped being fun and started being a source of stress almost as soon as I monetized it. I am also re-evaluating my feelings around being a “legitimate” artist and the role of monetization in my experience as an artist, but that remains a work in progress.

There is one thing which has brought this all back onto my front burner recently. Everywhere I turn these days, it seems like people are offering Patreons, subscriptions, Substack newsletters. They are not selling material things, or at least, that isn’t the primary draw (some may still use affiliate links in their paid content). They are selling content or, depending on how you look at it, creative product — not different from a song, or a piece of art. I am not going to lie, there is an appeal in this for me. Why? I guess at least part of the appeal goes back to that idea of legitimacy; if someone is willing to pay for it, your content must be worthy. However, put another way: if someone is reading your content, it must be worth something, no?

I keep coming back to this question. Is my content worth something? If I am writing because I enjoy it, does that negate the significance of being paid for it? Does reaching a (presumably) wider audience compensate for the lack of other recompense? Where content is personal in nature — opinion writing, if you will — does monetization mean selling access? How do I feel about that? Over the years, my writing has enabled me to connect with and develop friendships with people whom I would not otherwise have met; how does one bring money into something like that? At the same time, the majority of people who consume my content do so anonymously and without any reciprocity which, at times, I have to admit, does sting a little.

This is where I have to tell you that I don’t have a neat conclusion to this post. All I know is that I keep seeing new subscription notices — not the first and not the last tool of its kind, for monetization is a many-headed Hydra in our world — and wondering where I fit into this paradigm. Maybe this is just another facet (head?) of the monetization culture that I need to come to grips with. If anything, I’ve realized that there isn’t a “one answer fits all” solution to the questions posed by monetization culture. And this isn’t a long-winded way of telling you that I’m putting the blog behind a paywall, by the way. But if there is a takeaway, it’s that monetization as an extension of capitalist ideology is pervasive and tends to sneak into all corners of life where you might least expect it, and calls for constant (re)examination.

I would love to hear your thoughts, whether as content creator, content consumer, both, or just as a person living through these late stage capitalism end times. Have you grappled with the question “to monetize or not to monetize”? Have you jumped all in, or opted all out, or found some kind of balance (and if so, definitely share the secret sauce!)?