Henry Abbott

My first style icon was not Diana Ross or Devon Lee Carlson, but my favorite aunt, whom we called Ankica.

My first style icon was not Diana Ross or Devon Lee Carlson, but my favorite aunt, whom we called Ankica.

Her hair was cut in a sharp black bob that accented her porcelain skin. Bug-eye sunglasses, pouch dresses and wedges were her go-tos.

Tetka Ana was not just a member of my extended family; being in her presence was an entire sensory and emotional experience: aromatic, affectionate and overall aesthetic—not to mention generous too. I would always leave our reunions with offerings of lip products and nail polish.

One particular afternoon with her was spent lounging by topiary, guided by the view that overlooks the Serbian Sava river valley. The remnants of a discontinued Neapolitan popsicle, Šarenko, dripped down my fingers, but before tossing the stick, I still remembered to check if the two lottery stamps on its ends matched: a new apartment, phone or pet—infinite possibilities.

Being admired or memorable to others is a matter of your witnessed association with life’s best pleasures—in our case, excitement and leisure.

Of course, I love my aunt because she is “nice,” but my opinion of her is formed by a collective of our shared memories: reminiscing at the sight of her smile, the smell of the flowers littering the garden she brought me to, the feeling of her three kisses on my cheeks, the taste of the treats she bought me and the sound of her positive affirmations.

Behavior is not necessarily an overlooked aspect of self-improvement, but is typically considered an entirely separate realm from styling as defined by clothing and accessories. However, whether through code switching or etiquette classes, behavior, like dress, is related closely to the body and how it occupies space, both individually and interpersonally.

I would consider myself some kind of concoction of every characteristic in another person I’ve ever found captivating. At least, that’s what I intend to be.

Reflecting further on the spaces I occupy, I came across a piece of literature in July that confirmed my suspicions about the role of setting in human conduct—in this case, an homage to the Serbian capital, where I have spent the happiest periods of my life: 2017 style guide “Beogradjanke Znaju” (Belgradians Know) by Branka Kovačević.

A true Balkan style manifesto, the work follows 18 different Belgradian women and their individual fashion philosophies, including sneak peeks into their daily routines, like the type of fruit they put in their chia pudding.

If I were to write this book differently, the only change I would make would be including Ankica as the 19th Belgradian, because, despite their minor differences, all of these models embody the same aura. The type of woman who is always in a rush—excited by the transience of life—but never too busy to pause for a coffee date, is the essence of the Beogradjanka.

Your distinct vernacular, music taste and summer reading list create the context in which you exist, like the contents written on a Pokémon card or some kind of museum label. The intention behind these small details is veiled in small nuances. Do you hoard items or collect them? Do you chew on a toothpick during all of your waking hours?

In terms of location, the decisions of where you congregate and who you surround yourself with are also an aspect of your personal world-building. An Emma Chamberlain “Anything Goes” podcast episode I recently listened to that inspired me discussed the importance of the sociological concept of third spaces, which are spots you occupy outside of your traditional home or workplace. Of course, attending college as a non-commuter, the lines are blurred between this trifecta of points, considering being a student is likely your main career and you live on a university campus.

One of my favorite third spaces I can name from before I moved to Brunswick is the foundry of the Toledo Museum of Art, where I blew glass in high school. In the late afternoons, I would drop my backpack off at home after the eighth period and drive downtown to the forge. A teenage community of artistic girls, we bonded with the glow of neon rods in our faces, gossiping, while taking turns pulling molten glass from the ovens. What ambiance! Naturally, my relaxed state and pursuit of my creative interests led me to meet some of my closest friends and develop my attention to detail, which I think is a trait my loved ones value the most in me.

It may seem like this final pillar of “Stepping Stones for Style” places an unhealthy emphasis on an outsider view of the self, but I am a firm believer that by putting others’ well-being and experiences first, you will find yourself along the way. As social creatures, humans benefit from the inspiration we take and give. You have nothing to lose by seeking these side quests and refining your vibe.

The way I discovered the Rosetta Stone for determining the kind of person I want to be was never forgetting where I came from. The thousands of limestone bricks that shaped the façade of Belgrade’s white fortress were the ideal nook for people-watching and self-reflection. My thing is clapping my hands noisily while I laugh, telling my roommate that I’m coming in a “seccy-sec,” and going to Morning Glory downtown for the sole purpose of buying aspartame-free chewing gum.

This is the final pillar of “Stepping Stones for Style.” Hopefully, the five columns have been sufficient to anchor a pediment with a beautiful scene. If anything—God forbid—falls apart, there will still be countless tesserae to create a mosaic in your likeness.