Taste, Friendship, and the State of Getting Dressed
By Tempestt W. Harmon
Fashion conversations have a way of starting soft and spiraling into sociology, and that’s exactly what happened recently when a colleague and I found ourselves debating style, income, and the very delicate truth most people refuse to acknowledge: some of your friends simply cannot dress. Not because they’re bad people or lack resources, but because they lack literacy, the fashion kind.
Imagine a friend group of four. Three women dress beautifully, intentionally, and in alignment with who they are. Their silhouettes make sense. Their wardrobe evolves as their life evolves. Their colors complement their complexion and their lifestyle.
And then there’s the fourth friend, who either has money but dresses tacky, has no money but invests in $2,000 handbags, shops exclusively in the fast-fashion synthetics and disposables, or is completely disconnected from the language that clothes speak.
Everyone sees it, including her, and the question inevitably comes up:
Is it the responsibility of the more stylish friends to step in?
In most cases; no. Because people usually know they’re missing something; they just don’t know what. And when fashion doesn’t come naturally, getting dressed becomes a war: internal, external, emotional, and often invisible.
I truly believe the bigger issue is that most people do not know their fashion identity. They dress from insecurity, imitation, or impulse, not intention. They’re not dressing for their body, lifestyle, undertone, job, temperament, or future self. Fashion scholars like Susan Kaiser argue that clothing is an embodied form of communication, meaning it not only reflects who we are but also shapes how we experience ourselves.
And when your wardrobe is built on impulse purchases and “cute for now” items, it reflects confusion back to you.
A closet is a biography, not a receipt; and many people are telling a story they didn’t mean to write.
Let me confess something fashion people pretend is taboo: I have a favorite fashion house, and I’m no longer interested in pretending otherwise. I adore Schiaparelli. The surrealism, the audacity, the spine of it all. In a sea of predictable and boring runways, they are one of the few houses giving us creativity instead of algorithm-approved clothing.
Do I have couture-level money? No. Not yet!
Do I have couture-level taste? Absolutely.
Taste is not about cost; it’s about recognition. About what moves you. About the designers whose work activates your imagination.
That’s why I thrift. That’s why I shop vintage. That’s why I know almost every thrift store between Northern Virginia, Newport News, Vegas, New York, and probably a good corner of Maryland and Florida too.
I buy based on my design compass, not my impulse, and that’s what most people are missing.
Women love asking me, “What should I look for when I thrift?” The real answer is: choose a designer whose aesthetic you genuinely believe in and study them. Every fashion house has a silhouette, a story, a woman (or man) they design for, a color language, a visual fingerprint. Fashion historian Valerie Steele calls it the “visual signature.”
Once you understand a designer’s visual signature, Zimmermann’s bohemian romance, Wes Gordon’s modern-feminine Carolina Herrera woman, Bottega’s clean luxury, you become a better shopper. You stop buying random “cute things” and start buying pieces that support the story of your life.
And when you layer that with understanding your undertone, your complexion range, and how color interacts with your skin, your wardrobe shifts immediately. Research in fashion psychology notes that color, silhouette, and self-perception directly influence emotional well-being and confidence, something most people experience but don’t yet have language for.
Now, let’s address the state of fashion right now, because let’s be honest: it’s “bleak street.” Heritage houses feel uninspired. Trends feel exhausted. Fast fashion has convinced people that low-quality garments are a personality trait. Everyone is dressing like the same five internet mood boards.
And environmentally? The United Nations Economic Commission for Europe reports that fashion accounts for up to 10% of global carbon emissions. We got here because “making fashion accessible” became synonymous with overproduction, aesthetic dilution, and the collapse of taste.
We are drowning in choices but starving for discernment. (Tear)
And then there’s Sergio Hudson, a brilliant designer whose work deserves more than the conversations swirling around him. Let me say what many won’t: Sergio dresses matriarchs better than anyone in contemporary American fashion. Women who lead. Women who work. Women who build. When I saw Sheryl Lee Ralph in that three-piece suit he designed, I said, “Oh, he understands women.”
But I also believe his runway casting does not match the sophistication of his work. His models often look better suited for Diesel or Off-White shows, not for the mature, established, self-assured women his clothes are made for.
He needs the Veronicas, the Beverlys, the Chinas. A Gabrielle Union. A Keke Palmer sprinkled in for generational versatility.
It’s not about age or race; it’s about silhouette, narrative, and embodiment. Sergio dresses women building generational wealth, not trend-chasers. His models should reflect that. I say that with love, respect, and as a woman with nearly two decades of academic and professional experience in fashion.
Now we can talk about The Fashion Pyramid, because this is where the conversation becomes a mirror, not a judgment.
The FORWHY Fashion Pyramid: A Self-Assessment Tool. Created by Tempestt W. Harmon
The Pyramid is a self-assessment tool that helps you understand where your taste, your income, and your shopping habits intersect. It categorizes designers, labels, and retailers by tier and includes the average income of the clientele who typically shop each category.
The goal isn’t to shame you, it's to help you ask:
Am I living below, above, or in alignment with my fashion potential?
If you earn $300,000 a year, why are you buying disposable clothes that fall apart after three washes?
If you earn $60,000, why are you chasing luxury logos instead of building a sustainable, intentional wardrobe?
Fashion isn’t about money, it’s about integrity.
About how you want to move through the world.
About the narrative your clothing supports.
Getting dressed should not feel like a chore or a performance for social media. It should feel like choosing the version of yourself you want to embody that day. Style is cultural, emotional, psychological, communal, and deeply personal.
As our FORWHY community grows, I want us to continue having honest, unfiltered conversations about what we wear and why we wear it. Not from a place of pressure, but from a place of curiosity and self-respect.
Your clothes are telling a story. Make sure it’s one you’re proud of.