You’ve swapped ceremonial-grade matcha for ube, a barn jacket for a funnel-neck windbreaker, Puma Speedcats for Nike Air Superfly LXs and a classic burgundy pedicure for glossed toffee. But, humour me for a second: does this mean you’ve got taste?
The signs might indicate so—you’re drinking and wearing the "right" things—but are we, in fact, confusing being on-trend with embodying good taste? Because taste is something altogether more alchemic, right? Not a trail of breadcrumbs anyone can follow on Instagram, but a blend of personal style, an appreciation for vintage (or, even better, archival) clothing and a dogged avoidance of anything too "obvious". Was quiet luxury good taste? Was "boom boom" bad taste? And, perhaps most pertinently of all, is it possible to even have taste in 2026?
These days, it isn't just "vulgarity" that can be akin to "bad taste", but a decline in relevance too. That term, confusingly, can also describe something that’s so "bad" (read: weird, outrageous, alternative), it’s good. Take Maison Margiela’s Tabis. This Japanese-inspired shoe resembles a cleft hoof and has drawn comparisons to a camel's toe, neither of which stopped the likes of Zendaya, Rihanna and Michael B Jordan (and so many more celebrities and fashion people) wearing it. And herein lies their problem.
In a recent Instagram Reel, fashion commentator @trendyjosh_ summarised how mass appeal has effectively, to some extent, diluted the shoe’s edge. "Nine times out of 10, if someone was wearing Tabis, the ‘fit was fly. [...] When it really started to go mainstream, like summer 2024 until now, that’s when the 'fits started to take a turn. It basically became no different to wearing loafers, or Mary-Janes or whatever," he said, adding a final word of advice. "Tabis are one of my favourite silhouettes, still, but it’s time to give them a rest for a little bit."
In 2026, a product's saturation point is reached more rapidly because of Instagram and TikTok—the algorithms make something "cult" not long before killing it off—but also the availability of said product, which would have previously been much harder to get hold of, especially at a reduced, secondhand price. Now, a well-chosen search term on your resale platform of choice (Vinted, Vestiaire Collective, The RealReal or good old eBay) usually delivers the goods, sooner or later, that you bought from the comfort of your sofa.
Taste is staying true—despite the temptation—to you. As Fana Haile, senior stylist at Tibi, puts it, "Taste is [someone] who has their own point of view. Now more than ever, in the age of AI and social media, I find the people with the best taste are [those] who dance to the beat of their own drum," she says, citing two examples: Bob Marley and Lee Radziwill, Jackie Kennedy-Onassis' younger sister. "I find it almost a sort of rebellion—very punk."
There is, however, an upshot to this age of connectivity. "There are no gatekeepers (or not as prominently). If you think something is tasteful, it is. Period," says Haile.
Taste should, ideally, be a way to communicate with one another; not a conduit of judgment, but one of connection. Davina Efetie, a fashion stylist based in New York, describes herself as an introvert, which has impacted the way she puts her outfits together, and consequently, her taste. "I’ve found it easier to enter spaces and conversations by letting my looks be the icebreaker. It has always sparked curiosity in those around me, both familiar faces and strangers," she says.
"Anyone I encounter, whether in real life or online, who makes me scratch that itch and opens my eyes in wonder of what could be—that’s what taste means to me." Efetie says that discovering her taste has been nothing short of a "metamorphosis", from growing up in school uniform to mimicking the "copy-and-paste formula of dressing like everyone’s favourite style influencer" during college. "I’ve stopped condemning myself for that phase," she says. "I’ve come to understand it’s part of the journey."
It was only in her final year of college that she began to envisage a different way of dressing. "My understanding of how I wanted to present myself to the world began to shift. At first, it was influenced by people I had just started to admire; those I felt shared a similar mindset. But I eventually realised that every outfit was really a conversation with my own mind."
Refining your taste is a lifelong exercise, and one that ultimately feeds into your sense of self. Efetie does think it’s possible to have taste in 2026, despite the noise you may or may not find distracting. "My taste didn’t fully evolve from following my favourite content creators, style influencers or celebrities. I mean, that’s how it started, but where I truly found myself became this niche product of self-realisation," she muses. "Especially when it comes to style, it was about understanding how clothes play a huge role in the emotional and psychological aspects of my life."