Style, Unfiltered

Documenting the slow and quiet (re)build of my personal style.

I used to love getting dressed. Not just the act of putting clothes on, but the whole ritual—the decision-making, the creativity, the way a look could set the tone for an entire day. Getting dressed was how I expressed myself, how I felt grounded. Now, most days, I barely think about it. And that’s exactly the problem.

You might know me from my blog a few years back, or from when I was more active on Instagram. If not—hi, I’m Sabrina Meijer-Monteban. I’m 37, based in Amsterdam, and I’m using this Substack to find my way back to personal style. Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to dress for me.

I’m not exactly sure when or how it happened. Maybe it was somewhere in the middle of making a living by regularly posting outfits on Instagram and receiving pieces from the brands I worked with. Things I genuinely liked—otherwise I wouldn’t have accepted them—but probably (or even mostly) wouldn’t have bought with my own money. At the time, it felt like me. But looking back, it’s hard to tell where my own taste stopped and the ‘work’ took over. Maybe my style just wasn’t fully formed yet. I was young and still figuring it out, and the noise of the internet made it easy to get swept up—by trends, by aesthetics, by what looked good in photos. And for a while, that worked. Until it didn’t.

Or maybe it faded gradually, as I started pouring everything I had—my time, energy, and honestly, every last bit of my savings—into building REYÈM, the womenswear brand I founded in 2019, focused on comfortably dressing up: for women who want to look chic without the fuss. It took years, right up to my last penny (and then some—I had to take out a loan at one point to keep it going) before it started to take root. Even now, every bit I earn goes straight back into the business, so I haven’t bought much for years. Buying new clothes just hasn’t been a priority. Which is a funny thing to say, considering I have a clothing brand.

The upside, of course, is that I get to wear our pieces every season. Which I love. But it’s also made me a little lazy. I’m clearly biased, but the wide- and straight-fit pants we make are so comfortable, I’ve genuinely forgotten what jeans feel like. They go with everything, so getting dressed became a kind of autopilot situation. Even in winter, when they’re technically not warm enough, I just layer some Heattech (Uniqlo has the best) underneath and move on.

Recently I read a piece on Russh that really hit me. I’m not on TikTok, but for me, it’s Instagram that does the damage—blurring my instincts, clouding my eye. It’s the scroll effect: the constant exposure to aesthetics that don’t quite belong to me.

So yes, I’ve lost touch with how I used to get dressed. I stare at my wardrobe and feel completely uninspired. I end up wearing the same pants and knit most days. Kees—my husband, who always looks effortlessly good (and no, I’m not just saying that)—said to me recently: “When are you going to start putting effort into getting dressed again? It’s so not you to not care.” He’s right. That stung, because I knew it was true. I’ve always cared. I’ve just forgotten how to show it.

Some outfits of said husband.

This space isn’t a style guide. It’s not about curating the perfect wardrobe or giving advice. It’s not a reinvention project. It’s more of a quiet exploration—a way to slowly reconnect with my own sense of style, without the noise of trends or algorithms or gifting emails. It’s about building back that muscle memory. Trying things on. Letting things not work. Remembering what feels like me, and learning to listen to that again.

There’s no big plan. I’ll just document as I go. Some weeks it might be a breakdown of what I wore and how I felt in it. Other weeks, it might just be a few scattered thoughts. Things I tried and didn’t buy. Things I added to my wardrobe. Things I’m ready to let go of (I’ll be uploading most of those to Vinted, if you’re curious). Maybe even the occasional inspiration rabbit hole—if it feels relevant.

There’s no end goal here—just a slow return to something I used to do instinctively. Let’s see where this leads.