I’ve always envied other creatives who have that instantly recognizable look… the kind of style that’s so distinct you could spot it in a crowd. You know, every scribble is deliberate, every color perfectly on brand, every piece just absolutely screaming THEM.
I’ve never been that person.
If anything, I’m the artistic equivalent of a moving target. My style is a shapeshifter; one minute cottagecore watercolor, the next neon retro fever dream… Every year (or honestly, sometimes just a few months), I reinvent everything. New palette, new vibe, new “this time it’s really me” moment. It lasts about as long as a loaf of bread.
In the world of illustration, especially, there’s this unspoken expectation that at some point, you’ll find your style.” It’s treated like the Holy Grail of creative adulthood. As if once you find it, confetti will fall from the sky and clients will instantly line up at your door.
Your portfolio should look cohesive. Your feed should be instantly recognizable. Your “brand” should be clear.
And listen… I do get it. Consistency builds trust. Style sells. These are the fundamental truths that every designer learns in school. But what no one really mentions is how freaking exhausting it is to keep up an aesthetic like it’s a second job.
I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve archived every single post on Instagram to “start fresh” with a new aesthetic goal or whatever.
Every darn time, I convince myself that this is it. This is my sleek, perfectly elevated quirky, curated era. Then two weeks later I’m so over it, staring at my grid like, “Who was I even pretending to be?”
It’s like that scene in Gilmore Girls where Rory rearranges the living room after her breakup, facing the couch backward and insisting she’s totally fine. I’m “not wallowing,” just “rebranding.”
For a long time (up until very recently), I thought this made me flaky and lesser than other creatives. Real artists had visual discipline, a signature look, and I was just over here playing creative dress-up.
But honestly? I think experimentation IS my style.
I like trying new things. I like learning new tools. I like following an idea until it stops feeling exciting, then running headfirst into the next one. Sure, my portfolio looks like five different people made it, ha ha. But I’ve decided to accept that they’re all just different versions of me, each one with too much curiosity, a low attention span, and extremely strong opinions.
When I try to lock myself into one aesthetic, everything feels forced. The joy drains out. It becomes more about maintenance than making. And that’s never why I started creating in the first place.
Even though my work looks different project to project, there are through-lines that never leave. There’s always a sense of warmth somewhere, a touch of humor, a softness, a bit of imperfection I secretly love. I gravitate toward colors that feel a bit nostalgic (For instance, this site color palette is based on my favorite childhood toy, my early ’90s Polly Pocket), textures that feel alive (I use a lot of graphite texture digital brushes because it feels more like home to me), and compositions that feel a little off-balance in the best way (I’ve always struggled with perfect symmetry because it always felt stiff, and inauthentic).
Maybe that’s my style? Not a look, just a feeling.
“Finding your style” gets talked about like it’s a destination, something you finally arrive at, unpack your bags, and live in forever. (Well, that’s terrifying!) But I’m thinking, it’s a lot more like a road trip with no GPS. You’re just following curiosity, trusting that every detour adds something.
My work changes because I change. And the longer I make things, the less I care about having a signature aesthetic and the more I care about being honest in whatever I’m creating at that moment.
Maybe my style isn’t some neat, signature look I can hang a logo on. Maybe I’m not that kind of artist, and that’s okay. I’ll admire the ones who can do it, sure, but I’m done wasting energy on jealousy and self-loathing. I’ve decided to be proud of my chameleon ways, to embrace every wild, weird, wonderful era of me. Honestly, it’s just a whole lot more fun this way.
Thanks for being here,
Jai 🙂
jaipowell.com 
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