The Collapse of Institutions Is Making Us Rethink Power—Starting in the Mirror

By Elisabeth Philip, Founder of Mind & Style Studio

We’re watching institutions unravel in real time.

Another wave of political unrest is unfolding—and people are tired. Tired of being ignored, manipulated, and told to keep waiting for things to get better. Tired of watching systems fail the very people they’re supposed to serve.

Trust in institutions—government, healthcare, education, media—is breaking down. For many communities, this erosion of trust is nothing new. But now, the feeling is spreading. People across the political spectrum are starting to see the same thing: help isn’t coming from the top down.

In times like this, it’s easy to spiral. And equally tempting to check out entirely.

But I’m seeing something else happen too.

When systems stop functioning, people start asking deeper questions. Questions that aren’t about efficiency or status—but about truth. About values. About identity.

What do I actually believe in? What matters to me now? What do I still have control over? And more quietly: Who am I, really?

The public breakdown of trust is hard to look away from—but it’s also hard to fully absorb. Most people aren’t shouting in the streets. They’re just quietly losing faith.

And when that happens, attention turns inward. Not in a self-obsessed way, but in a basic, human one. A sense of, If no one’s looking out for me, I need to find my own way forward.

That’s where many people are right now. Not just reacting to what’s broken, but trying to figure out how to move forward without relying on the same systems that disappointed them.

They’re asking basic but difficult questions: What does a good life look like now? How do I live in a way that actually reflects what I care about? What can I still shape, when so much feels out of reach?

For a lot of us, the answers don’t show up all at once. They show up in small, personal decisions. What we say no to. What we stop pretending to care about. What we stop performing. Trying to figure out how to be visible in a world that prefers us silent, compliant, or neatly   categorized. Trying to feel real again.

In these moments, we often make small, quiet changes. What we reach for when we get dressed. The way we start to choose comfort over convention. Or clarity over polish. Even the act of getting dressed can shift—from “how do I look?” to “how do I want to feel in my body today?”

It’s not about aesthetics. It’s about agency.

Some of us pull back into invisibility. Some try on different versions of ourselves, one outfit at a time. Some realize that the wardrobe we’ve built doesn’t reflect who we are anymore—and maybe never did.

All of this belongs to the larger cultural conversation about personal power. Not the kind of power handed out by job titles, institutions, or followers. But the kind we claim when we decide to stop waiting. To stop proving. To stop performing.

Style, in this context, isn’t a luxury. It’s a form of clarity.

Not everyone will see it that way. There’s still a strong current of belief that fashion is shallow. But I think those who’ve lived through rupture—grief, identity shifts, moments when life splits into before and after—understand clothing can become a tool.

When things feel unsteady, it makes sense to reach for something that brings us back to ourselves. Something tactile. Something visual. Something that says: Here I am. I know who I am, even if nothing else feels solid.

There’s no one way to do that. No single look or aesthetic that defines it. But the impulse to try—to realign the inner and outer self—is a sign of something deeper.

For decades, we were told that power came from structure. From following rules, achieving milestones, playing by systems we didn’t design. That version of power is showing its limits.

So we’re finding other smaller, more personal ways.

We’re asking how to move through the world on our own terms.

And sometimes, that starts with something as simple as what we wear.

It’s a kind of personal resistance to a world that wants us to disappear into our roles. And maybe that’s what power actually looks like now: not controlling everything around us, but choosing how we show up in spite of it.