I Found My Personal Style — With Help From a Total Stranger

Once upon a time, if you’d asked me to define my personal style, I would’ve answered that question with a succinct sentence: “Bettie Page meets Blair Waldorf in a Salvation Army.” Lately, I haven’t been so sure. 

As a kid, my kind parents let me choose my own clothing as a way to nurture my creativity. (Do orange polka dots go with bright purple pants? According to 8-year-old me, hell yes.) As a teen, I “rebelled” via all the classic sartorial stuff: Dyeing my hair pink, wearing combat boots, and hiding packs of Parliament Lights in the pockets of my moth-eaten cardigans. Back then, I shopped almost exclusively from thrift stores, hauling enormous bags of secondhand stuff into the house while my mother shook her head and whispered, “Dead people’s clothes...” Then in my early twenties, I decided I only wanted to dress like I lived in the 50s and 60s, so for years I wore vintage coats, wiggle skirts, saddle shoes, teased hair, and red lipstick. (And I smoked those Parliaments through a cigarette holder, of course.)

In my late twenties, I was building my career in earnest, but I still hadn’t quite nailed my “signature” grown-woman style. Getting dressed for the office was often like trying a headstand in yoga: confusing and uncomfortable. I worked in publishing and got jobs at progressively bigger and fancier magazines until I was right in the thick of it, surrounded by extremely sophisticated New York City fashion editors. But even after watching them stride past me daily in kitten heels and perfectly hemmed pants, I still struggled to understand what felt like the right way to dress myself. 

Once I got into my 40s, I realized I had no idea what I should wear anymore.

Then the pandemic hit, and I moved from that major city to a relatively tiny one hundreds of miles away, where I began working entirely from home. My new city’s idea of getting dressed-up is wearing closed-toe shoes to dinner instead of Tevas. And at my house, the dress code is what I’d call “above-the-waist chic”: I own a series of Zoom-appropriate tops, which I pair with cozy shorts or floppy pants. Most non-work days, I’m in some combination of athleisure and band T-shirts.

Once I got a few years into my — OK fine, I’ll say it — 40s, I realized I had no idea what I should wear anymore. I still loved my kooky vintage clothes but I felt internal pressure to look more mature and put-together, whatever that meant. Was I supposed to be a powerful woman in a silk blouse, biting the arm of my tortoiseshell glasses while considering a business deal? Are tie-dyed bike shorts no longer on the menu for someone at the recommended age for a first colonoscopy? How many band T-shirts are too many? In short, what is my deal?

Those are the questions that House of Colour promised to answer, or at least address. The company was founded in 1985 in the UK (hence that “u” in color) and is known for its two primary offerings: color analysis and style consultations. In the first, you leave knowing your color “season,” and by extension, the shades that’ll make your eyes and skin ~pop~. But the company’s style analysis is a little more complicated — after having your body measurements, personality, hopes/dreams, face shape, torso length, and preferences assessed, you get the name of your essential style personality. And that vibe is supposed to guide you while you shop, dress, and generally present yourself in the world.

When I arrived at the immaculate, cheery home of my HOC consultant Charlotte, I was admittedly feeling less than optimistic. What could this virtual stranger with cheerful lawn signs and a perfectly color-coordinated headband tell me about my style? I worried she’d misread me entirely, and suggest something unspeakable, like wearing jewel-toned blazers.

Luckily, once the appointment got underway, I felt safe in Charlotte’s capable, well-manicured hands. She asked what I wanted to get from the session, and I gave her my spiel: “I’ve dressed in a bunch of wild ways in the past, but now I need to figure out how the grown-up version of me is supposed to look.” She nodded at me with an expression that indicated my issue wasn’t all that unique, which made me feel less special, but also more relaxed.

Charlotte measured my body at a few key points — hips, waist, the length between armpit and hip — to determine my various ratios and find my overall body shape. (I’m a “soft curved oblong,” if you must know, and Charlotte assured me there was no objectively correct shape to be — “A circle isn’t better than a square,” she explained philosophically.) And because I’m a soft curved oblong with a long torso, she gave me initial pointers that would accentuate my waist and flatter my limbs: No overly baggy clothes, no low-rise pants, no mid-calf boots. 

Then I went through my HOC workbook as Charlotte asked me a slew of questions that seemed to have nothing to do with clothing or style: Was I a risk-taker or do I like to play it safe? A morning or night person? Able to easily sever relationships, or tends to cling on? All of it was aimed at figuring out whether my energy was yin (relaxed and nurturing) or yang (direct and orderly), to help sort out my clothing personality. Honestly, my energy at this point in the consultation was Hungry for a Snack, but I chose not to share that with Charlotte.

After that analysis, Charlotte gave me a few minutes’ break while she did a series of calculations. (I used my time off to do something productive: look at TikToks on my phone.) Then it was the moment of truth. My style personality is — drumroll, please — “Dramatic Gamine.” That look is modern and a little edgy, with fitted proportions, bold jewelry, and details that have a sense of humor. I’m better in A-line skater skirts than flowing hippie gowns, and better in moto jackets than poet blouses. My ideal style is sort of flashy (leather and animal prints are welcome) and somewhat retro — my keywords are “neat, contemporary, structured, statement, edgy.” It made me sound like mid-century architecture, and I was down with that.

It was incredibly satisfying to have an archetype — and guardrails, of sorts — for dressing myself. I wanted to sprint to the mall immediately and buy a U-Haul’s worth of Dramatic Gamine clothing. But House of Colour doesn’t recommend that you go on an immediate shopping binge after a style analysis: Your first task is to go through your closet and see where there are any wardrobe “holes.” So I got home and reviewed my clothes with a fresh perspective, finding countless items that never seemed quite…right, but I’d bought because they were vaguely amusing or on sale — or being marketed to me on Instagram during my insomnia-fueled 4 a.m. scrolling, when my defenses were lowered. On the plus side, I also noticed lots of pieces I already owned that fit my brand-new clothing outlook. Apparently I wasn’t as out of touch with my essential style nature as I’d thought.

If all of this discussion about clothes is giving you a powerful hunger for some fall shopping and you need some clear direction, you can find a House of Colour consultant to help guide you through the style analysis. If that’s not in the cards for you right now, here are some of the tricks from my consultation that I’d recommend to anyone:

*Before you shop for anything new, go through your closet with a ruthless eye. (If it helps, pretend you’re the Meryl Streep character in Devil Wears Prada, squinting at your clothes with a look of skepticism and borderline disgust.) You’ve heard the classic rules about culling your wardrobe, and they all apply here:

• If you haven’t worn it in a year, you probably never will.
• If it’s stained/torn/needs new buttons, are you committed to fixing it? If not, let it go.
• Does it fit your body now, and not the future body you may have someday?
• Is it fundamentally awkward or ill-fitting?

For those of us who fear tossing something out in haste and then wanting it back, Charlotte gave me a helpful trick: Assuming you have the space, move all of your “no” pieces to one side of your closet and put the stuff that compliments you most on the other side. Try to only pull pieces from the “good” side as you assemble outfits. If, after a year or so, a piece from the dud side hasn’t made its way to the prized spot, it needs to go. 

*When it comes time to buy new pieces, I’ll be focusing on my style personality as a guiding force. But if you haven’t nailed yours down yet, here are some questions Charlotte gave me that’d work for anyone roaming the department store aisles:

• Is it a color that pairs well with my skin tone and hair?
• Will it compliment my “body architecture”?
• Does it go with (minimum) 3 things I already own?
• Does it reflect my personality?
• On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being horrendous and 10 being “This makes me feel as hot as Sofia Vergara after getting her hair blown out”), is it an 8 or higher?

I’d recommend a style analysis to basically everyone, but especially to someone going through a transitional period, whether that’s a new city, a new job, a new body shape, a new decade, or just a new season. Style is deeply personal: a weird psychological goulash made from your childhood memories, pop-culture references, and the random celebrities you keep seeing on Instagram. Still, sometimes figuring out what looks and feels good on you means bringing in a stranger to analyze you from the outside, and give it to you straight — and I’ve got my marching orders now. But the tie-dyed bike shorts are staying. 

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To learn more about House of Colour, visit their site.