By Ariel Leve.

All my life I've wondered: what's my style? It's something I've always felt myself to be on the verge of finding, like love or a husband. One day, I've told myself, it will come. Now, at 36, I'm beginning to panic. What if it never does? I might be one of those women who remains perpetually style less. This is not a pleasant discovery. The only consolation is that at least I don't have a cat and an apartment full of aromatherapy candles.

How did I let this happen? To better understand this is to know what elucidates style and where it comes from. Some people seem to have magical style fairy dust sprinkled on them. They put on a pair of sunglasses and hey presto, they have a "look". My signature look is: not having one. I've never discovered a "look" that defined me. Most people wouldn't be able to put a name to my look. My grandmother referred to it once as "unique". But she sounded as though she was consoling herself when she said it. A boyfriend said it was "eclectic". But that's a man's most sophisticated way of saying, "You wear different outfits."

My style has always been: whatever makes me look thin. Since about age 10, my sole objective has been to camouflage fat. My body image called the shots. In junior high I wore flowing skirts and frilly tops. If only it had been 1835 and I lived on the prairie - I would have been a fashion maven. In high school, I went through a vintage phase. Then I changed my mind and went for early 80s Madonna. The problem was, in an attempt to make it my own, I never fully committed to either. I ended up looking like Betty Boop on acid.

My quest for style has always been hampered by the fact that, while trend-conscious, I am too lazy to bother doing much about it. As a teenager, I noticed that, around me, my friends were becoming much more concerned with what was current and that the labels were right. But unlike me, they were proactive. They made an effort. (One summer, my best friend decided to wrap a bandage across her chest, like a bandeau top, and paint zebra-like stripes on her midriff with black shoe polish. Another time, she cut up part of a white linen bedspread and wore it out as a mini-skirt. Perhaps, looking back, this was slightly too much effort.) I became influenced by things friends told me I should wear, but lacked follow-through. If my friend said: "You should wear fitted, button-down shirts," I'd become obsessed with finding fitted, button-down shirts and buy 20. Then they'd sit in the closet, unworn, as I was invariably drawn to the shapeless variety.

There have been a myriad excuses for extending the no-style limbo: I was too busy, too tired, too poor. At times I have argued to myself that effort poured into thinking of what to wear was effort best saved for being creative. I was a writer, and my energy should be conserved for work. But as much as I wanted to indulge this as absolution, I knew I was lying to myself. Style is less about fashion than it is about vision - something that requires intense creativity in order to thrive. And, besides, it's not as though I was working that hard. For a long time I clung to the excuse that in order to have style, I had to be a waif. But my most stylish friend is not thin at all, but very beautiful, and knows what makes her look the best. Her style is very feminine and decorative, almost baroque.

Thankfully, I'm not alone - there are plenty of other people out there who are wandering parched through the desert of no style, waiting for their "look" to emerge and in the meantime, making do. My friend, Susannah, refers to her style or lack thereof as "diversionary". "When you're weight-challenged," she says, "Your aim is to distract. So I live from my ankles down and my neck up, hence, tremendously wild shoes and eyeglasses and then all black in between except for the right status bag." She tells of envying people like Anjelica Houston who's had an innate style for decades, or the actress Tea Leoni, whose style is male prep school slouchy-made-sexy.

When I asked my close friend, Joanna, to describe her style, she thought for a long time. "It's like describing the sound of my own voice. I can't get enough distance." Very philosophical. But not good enough. I pushed for more specificity and she consulted her husband. "He said he was always drawn to the fact that I looked hip and 'with it' but individual and not trendy." Her secret, she says, is having no money. "All my adult fashion life, I've been shopping in my own closet. I revive things that I already have - it's accidental. My style is called: being broke."

As for me: over the past few years I've been drawn to clothes that are simple and classic and won't be out of fashion any time soon. I'll spend the money on something from Agnés b because I know that six years from now, I'll still be wearing it. A fitted black blazer and black jeans are a staple in my wardrobe and the shoes, the bag, and the right T-shirt dress it up. Hey, I'm in good company: Albert Einstein wore the same outfit every day. It was a look, no doubt about it. Perhaps having a uniform is the first step to having style? As Albert would no doubt agree, it's all relative.