Everyone wants JFK Jr’s and Carolyn Bessette’s style. That’s not how personal style works

As Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette reaches its finale today (I’m crying too; just don’t ask me where I watched it), the internet’s obsession with the couple shows no signs of slowing down. Scroll through TikTok or Instagram and you’ll find endless tutorials on how to dress like Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy: black turtleneck tops, bootcut jeans (preferably the Levi’s 517), a tortoiseshell acetate headband. Maybe a pair of black oval sunglasses if you’re feeling committed. The formula is simple enough—assemble the pieces and bam! You’re CBK.

A couple of years ago, we wrote about the death of personal style and the core-ification of fashion. Balletcore, gorpcore, cottagecore… The list went on. If -cores have ended, something else has taken its place: method dressing for the masses. Our collective urge to dress like fictional characters has never been more apparent.

Pop culture has always inspired fashion trends, and of course art imitates life and life imitates art. As tweens, many of us copied the Disney wardrobe playbook: tights under super-long T-shirts and dresses, Converse sneakers with everything, layered necklaces from Claire’s courtesy of characters like Miley Stewart, Mitchie Torres, Alex Russo et al. But what feels new is how intensely adults now try to replicate fictional wardrobes—and document the process online. When Succession ended, “stealth wealth” flooded every corner of the internet. Bridgerton brought “Regencycore” with corsets and flouncy dresses. Wednesday revived goth-girl dark academia. Now, with Love Story, we’re all apparently supposed to dress like CBK.

With the rise of so much content offering CBK shopping guides or “how to make your boyfriend JFK Jr” Reels, it’s natural that brands have also jumped on the Love Story bandwagon. Everyone from Uniqlo (touting “90s minimalism in Uniqlo inspired by icons of the time”) to Polo Ralph Lauren, who put out campaigns staged on Manhattan’s sidewalks. The images are meant to evoke the effortless glamour of the Kennedy couple, but, no offense, they land closer to parody—like a moodboard assignment taken too literally. Yes, they both had distinct personal styles that are worth taking note of, but this feels a lot like satire.

It’s a bit morbid, yes, but it’s also so contrived. If you really think about it, nothing from the couple’s wardrobe is especially extraordinary (which is probably why you can ‘get the look’ with Uniqlo—no offense again). What made JFK Jr and CBK’s style so special was how they wore it. It projected a point of view. Neither of them—at least to public knowledge—worked with stylists. JFK Jr dressed like the ultimate American everyman: blazers, denim, a tie. CBK wore what was essentially a uniform shaped by her years at Calvin Klein—clean lines, neutral palettes, pieces she returned to repeatedly. She was famously private, uninterested in the kind of attention that followed her. They didn’t set out to be personal style heroes, and yet they did.

Which raises the obvious question: what really makes someone’s personal style stand out? I often think of the people around me. The Nod’s managing editor, Shalini Shah, will pair a rugby shirt with galaxy-print 501s and Onitsuka Tigers. There’s fashion editor Butool Jamal’s proclivity towards gossamer cotton separates worn with a pair of funky sandals or metallic sneakers. Stylist Naheed Driver’s Hanut dagger necklace, tank tops, and trousers—almost always with an interesting asymmetrical zipper detail and always unbuttoned after lunch. Contributing editor Priyanka Khanna’s crisp button-downs and straight-leg jeans, gold jewellery, Apple Watch, and a fabulous vintage bag always. These aren’t costumes. These are consistent signatures.

The answer, therefore, is consistency. Fashion is about having fun, of course. The beauty of it is you can wake up and project whatever mood—or whatever version of yourself—you want on any given day. But if you’re on the quest to find your personal style (a phrase that’s become such a buzzword lately), the answer probably isn’t buried in a TikTok tutorial. It lives in your existing wardrobe. In the pieces you wear the hell out of, so often that they become a visual shorthand for you.

I almost spat out my water when I saw Klusais Centrs’ starter-pack meme on the show: crisp white shirt, a black turtleneck, a pair of blue jeans, a headband, and a pack of cigarettes amongst other CBK-esque paraphernalia. “Am I a fashion victim?” I typed out as I sent it to my friends, thinking of my own closet that’s dominated by jeans, black tops, and the occasional headband. I felt the urge to tell my friends how I’m not a fan of the 517s and I wouldn’t be caught dead in oval sunglasses, but then I realised the most wonderful thing: this isn’t going to last. People aren’t going to be ’90s minimalists forever; they’re going to move onto the next thing, as they always do. Trends come and go, aesthetics rise and fall, and the internet’s attention span is famously short. I’m not going to change everything in my wardrobe just because it’s trending. My bet? Euphoria is coming back this April. Give it a few weeks, and we’re all gonna be wearing coloured eyeliner and “channelling” Maddie, Jules or Cassie next.