I don't care about fashion

and how that made me more fashionable

I don’t go to Fashion Week. I go for long walks — through the streets of wherever I am.
I haven’t bought a fashion magazine since I was sixteen.

Instead, I watch people. Closely. Long enough to make everyone a little uncomfortable.

I don’t spend time researching trends.

They somehow find me — like an instinct I didn’t cultivate on purpose.

And when I’m in the mood to be inspired, I look at old things. Not just archival fashion, but films, furniture, textures, architecture, nature. Everything has been done before — and if not, maybe there’s a reason it hasn’t.

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Close your eyes, you'll see more

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The fashion world feels to me like an elite club with a very public password. A system that wants you in, but on its terms.

And I’ve said it before: I don’t like to feel part of a system. Fashion is a system. Style, on the other hand, is an act of communication.

If you’re anything like me, you might not feel at home in the system. But you’re fluent in the language. And that’s enough. You don’t have to show up in exaggerated silhouettes, layered references, or the latest It-piece to prove that you “get it.”

You just have to know what you’re saying.

Dressing up is fun — it can be an art form, a medium, a beautiful way to pass time. I’m not talking about that here.

Personally, I found that removing myself from the direct influence of fashion — runways, magazines, influencers, the algorithm itself — helped me see more clearly. It gave me the neutrality I needed to see others, and myself. Not as trends or archetypes, but as complex, nuanced individuals. And that, in turn, made me better at my work — and more relaxed in private.

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People Person

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I remember when I had just started to work as a stylist — the first times I got the chance to translate my imagination onto a model. I didn’t study before. I didn’t have a plan or a vision. No moodboards, no pressure to perform. In retrospect, it might not have been my highest-quality work — but it was certainly my most honest. It was pure. It was my own.

Somehow that changed over time. I began to think more than I allowed myself to create — or more than others allowed me to.

I always tried to shield myself from external influence; it’s in my nature. But there’s a fine line between experimentation and replication that even a well-trained eye can overlook sometimes. Eventually, it got to a point where I didn’t recognize myself anymore — not in my work, not in the mirror.

So I stopped looking. At everything.

Perhaps the best stylists aren’t "fashion people." They’re people people. Being good at fashion doesn’t require you to worship it. Sometimes it requires the opposite: distance. Disillusionment, even. You need to stay far away to see through it — because otherwise, you risk being too close to see anything at all.

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Freedom to try, freedom to retreat

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“Alles kann, nichts muss” - I had to try everything first. Of course I did. Fashion can be seductive. I experimented, exaggerated, re-invented. I played dress-up until the costumes wore me.

Eventually, I came to terms with something that felt almost like a betrayal at first: I don’t need to orchestrate flamboyant, avant-garde runway moments to feel stylish. I don’t need my outfit to be louder than me. In fact, that never really worked. Every time I tried, I ended up looking like a fashion fool. And worst of all — I felt like one too.

Instead, I found my way back to something quieter: a little asymmetric black something, tailored trousers, a long coat.

It’s been years, and I still return to it. Because it feels like me. And maybe that’s the point. True personal style doesn’t need to scream. It doesn’t even need to surprise. It definitely can, but most importantly, it just needs to resonate

So no, I'm not a fashion person — but I'm really good at it.