What’s Wrong with Being Yourself? The Buying Trends of "Love Story"

By: Megan Waddington

Like many of us, I’ve found myself completely enamoured each week watching Love Story, following the relationship between JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette. The soundtrack, the costume design, and the backdrop of 90s New York create a strange yet alluring nostalgia for a time many of us never even experienced.

Carolyn, portrayed by Sarah Pidgeon, appears so immaculately effortless in her look. So many attempt to replicate it, yet there’s something about her that simply can’t be copied. Although I admire the 90s minimalism, beautiful Calvin Klein silhouettes and her effortlessly undone look, a problem I’ve seen so many times before arises. The world seizes on something, spins it into a fleeting trend, and before long we’re oversaturated, tired of seeing it everywhere and hearing about it endlessly. 

Ironically, this defeats the very essence of Carolyn Bessette’s style: its permanence.

It becomes a mind-numbingly predictable cycle of a new “thing” that must be replicated immediately. Then follow the videos of “here’s where to buy all these things so you can be Carolyn Bessette”. The nuance disappears, replaced by affiliate links and curated shopping lists. Her style wasn’t assembled quickly by next-day delivery but curated over time. We reduce it to what she wore and where to source it. It turns into overconsumption disguised as self-expression. 

The speed at which we move from appreciation to acquisition feels telling as though embodying someone else’s style is easier than truly cultivating our own. In chasing these ready-made identities, we risk mistaking aesthetic mimicry for authenticity. 

Why does appreciation now require purchase?

When suddenly everyone’s hunting for CBK’s headband or turtleneck, it’s time to pause. Identity and consumption don’t have to go hand in hand. What’s being sold isn’t just clothes it’s the idea of being in the proximity of pre-digital New York, a dream fashion job, romance with JFK jr and the illusion of effortless status. The gap between liking something and purchasing it is basically gone; just because you admired the show doesn’t mean you have to equate buying. Identity stops being cultivated and starts being copy-pasted. 

There’s a quiet sadness that comes with this because it doesn’t have to be this way. The true joy of fashion comes from finding pieces that make you feel like yourself, pieces that don’t demand your conformity. The problem is that when we turn to viral aesthetics, we surrender that individuality to be part of something that is, ultimately, short-lived. 

Carolyn’s style was so memorable because it was just her; she wasn’t trying to be someone or something else. Her style was so memorable because it felt effortlessly intentional. She embraced clean lines, neutral tones, and impeccable tailoring, creating a look that was understated yet deeply powerful. Nothing about her outfits seemed forced or trend-obsessed; instead, they reflected a strong sense of identity. Her sleek hair, minimal makeup, and preference for simple silhouettes gave her an air of mystery and quiet confidence. 

The moment style becomes self-conscious performance, it stops being personal and starts looking like a costume. In our pursuit of the next trend or muse, individuality quietly erodes. Carolyn Bessette’s style remains compelling not because it can be replicated, but because it was formed gradually. Influence, if it exists at all, should come through intentional choices accumulated over time and not through instant imitation.

The real question isn’t “How do I dress like Carolyn Bessette?”

It’s “What would I wear if I wasn’t trying to be seen as anything?”

That’s where personal style begins. 

Is there a better way to do this? 

Maybe there’s a quieter way to engage with influence. Carolyn Bessette’s wardrobe was never about excess, just elevated basics worn with certainty. The irony is that most of what we’re searching for likely already exists in our own wardrobes. Inspiration doesn’t demand reinvention; sometimes it simply asks us to see familiar things differently.

Authenticity might not come from buying more, but from learning to recognise what already feels like us. Because personal style isn’t built in a shopping cart, it reveals itself when we stop trying to be someone else. 

So, before you add another black turtleneck to the cart its worth asking, do you love the simplicity, or do you love what it represents? Real style isn’t about dressing like someone else at the exact moment the internet tells you to, but about who you are before the show starts streaming.  We are so obsessed with becoming something else or another aesthetic, we rarely look inward. 

Perhaps the most effortless thing we can wear is ourselves.