A little Joan Crawford meets punk, with her tattoos as accents to peplum jackets and vintage cocktail dresses, Princess Julia is a legendary DJ who enjoys fads, but does not follow them. Suspenders with a red pencil skirt and suede lace ASOS pumps are as trendy as she gets. Unphased by standing out in her Westwood pirate patent mary janes, she considers herself a pioneer in lifestyle as well– between her love for music and writing, and her immersion into the cultural eclecticism of London. “My grandmother was stagey and flamboyant,” says Princess Julia, who feels that old ladies have the best style of all.

If you love Princess Julia you may also like Diane Naegel, Sorcha O’Raghallaigh and Paisley Dalton.

While Andy was all about breaking molds, Glenn redefines them when it comes to men’s clothing. As GQ’s “Style Guy,” he knows just about everything there is to know about “the rules” – most importantly that rules are meant to be broken; you have to know how to speak the language before you can start cursing in it. Rule #1, though, is “tuck in your shirt” – untucked shirt tails under jackets, Glenn says, are a move best left to Mick Jagger and Woody Allen on his better days. While his mother warned him that blue and green didn’t “go” together, he thinks it’s a great combination. Glenn proves his point, pairing his navy suit with an emerald green Hermès tie and green Paul Smith socks – socks, he says, can match your tie or they can match nothing at all, just as long as they don’t scream. His Breton-striped Saint James socks do not overshadow, but add the perfect touch, to a paisley Etro shirt and Adam Kimmel blazer. According to Glenn, “Guys think, if I wear a Steelers jersey, I’ll look like a man.’ But that doesn’t really work; you just look like one of the crowd.” Confident in his signature Ralph Lauren saddle shoes, he says, “I dress the same as I did when I was 12, 18, 25, and 35– I haven’t had too many ‘aberrations.’”

Glenn stops short of casting himself as a modern day Cicero, but relates to a fellow “wiseguy” who could never resist speaking his mind, albeit one two thousand years removed. Cicero was an orator, an intellectual, and a philosopher from a time when it wasn’t “unmanly” to use your brain – and a sometimes-soldier who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty – he probably would have approved of the raw denim and sailor stripes that comprise Glenn’s “Summer fatigues.” However, Cicero’s big mouth eventually got the better of him – or, at least, Mark Antony’s soldiers did – but so far Mr. O’Brien has avoided such a fate. As a former stand-up comedian, he knows that being funny and humane, in addition to being brutally honest, goes a long way. Having reinvented himself as a sort of Cicero for the 21st century, Glenn’s set his sights sharing some virtus with the modern man, both in his GQ column and in his book, simply titled How To Be A Man – “a philosophy book disguised as a humor book disguised as an advice book.” Nevertheless, as unable to resist a ripe wisecrack as old Cicero was, he says his favorite thing about fashion is, “Two women at a party, wearing the same dress– horrified.”

If you love Glenn, you may also like Susan Blond, Waris Singh Ahluwalia and Daniel & Steven.

The reappropriating of divergent vintage clothing that Jean does with ease – like the Nantucket picnic basket bag he wears around his neck over a polka dot button-down with an ebony and gold medallion necklace, couture tribal jeans, Nike sneakers and an handmade American Indian wooden pouch with feathers slung around his torso – speaks to his refusal to cop to the usual divisions between people. He is the leader of an artistic collective in his hometown called the “Jersey Klan” aka “NJ Street Klan,” that was inspired in part by a collaborative called A.L.I.E.N NYC, which stands for A Legion In Every Nation, and expresses themselves so freely with music and style that Jean vividly recalls their exciting intermingling of streetwear like ninja pants and shoes meets skater punk. The Jersey Klan is a collective that promotes artists of all kinds, from concerts to art exhibits. Jean is an artist himself who raps and writes his own music, but the coordinating of his events is driven by a passion to give a platform to others, espcially young kids who would otherwise not have a chance to be exposed to the public.

The attendance at NJ Street Klan affairs are as diverse a tapestry as Jean’s genres of dress. He laces his Air Classic Kicks with zebra laces, mixes a camouflage top with a multicolored patchwork jacket and a Davy Crockett hat, and wears a Hawaiin print shirt with DIY studded Eskimo boots. “Punks, college kids, street kids…come together for the music… if you’re white, black, Asian, whatever color you are, it’s for everybody. It’s not about where you’re from and what race you are, it’s about the music, the culture, the word, the energy, the vibe.” He is so intense about the ability to express oneself though music that he produced a project called “No Faces,” that is a freestyle mix without any visuals in an effort to promote the importance of pure music, free of the pervasive hype of celebrity and “faces” over substance. Of his music and “No Faces,” Jean says, “You don’t have to know who I am… listen to my words… it doesn’t have a color…it’s something that I love to do…we are surrounded by too many people who just want to be celebrities and not leaders.”

If you love Jean, you may also like Matt Parrotti, Erica Yarbrough and Ian Bradley.

Emanating an edgy sophistication in a resin coated canvas “leather” jacket and a bow tie, a tribute to traditional gentlemanly rituals and Pee Wee Herman, Joshua feels, “The problem with fashion is that it’s not just about your own person, it’s about putting out a message and that’s where it gets complicated.” Often asked when speaking to design students at Parsons why the icon of the villain is so celebrated in the fashion world, he says, “Because it’s the easiest path to power. If you’re going to be a hero, you have to have purpose and knowledge, and that takes work. To be a villain, you don’t have to have any knowledge. You can be nuts, and still have power.” A Burberry ad featuring a model wearing a spiked leather biker jacket, Joshua points out, is hypocritical. “They’re taking on this rebel iconography. It’s sort of the rebel without a cause thing.” Even wearing vintage can promote the wrong message when it looks hip. In reaction to this empty posturing, he is involved with The Pinnacle, an initiative of fashion industry professionals who are trying to reinvigorate the discussion about fur and this idea of being a real rebel. “The wild animals who spend their entire lives in tiny cages, goes against everything they have evolved to do,” Joshua says. “A wild animal is evolved to explore a vast amount of area and space. You can see they go crazy. They pace in the cages. They spin in circles, they resort to cannibalism, often. They literally go insane. And it isn’t so much the death that’s the problem, it’s that life of psychological torture.”

Joshua describes his adolescence in Poughkeepsie, New York, as torturous. The descriptions of his sculptures seem to echo the sentiments of his youth, “In our relationships with each other and the natural world, we decompose both literally and figuratively from our living conditions. We are products of our own creation.” Dressed in JNCO in jeans, he found refuge in poetry, comic books and punk music at local club The Chance, Joshua says that he was searching to determine that he wasn’t doomed and also that the things that concerned him concerned others, as well. Revenge for Joshua comes not only in the form of animal rights, but exposing the “assholes” who label and marginalize gay men as the ones who need an identity check. “I feel like male identity in our culture is powerful but also incredibly limited and stifled…if you’re a man and express any identity outside of the four Bs of mainstream manhood, which is boobs, ball, beer, and beef… you are considered less of a man.” On his blog, The Discerning Brute, Joshua explores the idea of male identity in relation to sustainability. “I see mainstream male identity as a roadblock to sustainability because compassion is seen as a weakness for men and if you express compassion, whether it’s towards an animal or another person or an ecosystem…it’s a red flag and you’re less of a man.” Far from the days when he identified with dorky Dawn Weiner from “Welcome to the Dollhouse,” no one would mess with Joshua these days, his arms full of tattoos of everything from germinating seeds (the symbol for awareness), to insects with halos (representing their sacredness, as they support all of our lives) and hundreds of species of extinct birds.

“[Style is] the most powerful form of personal identity that you can express, and it’s unspoken. If you know who you are and you know how to express that through the way you look… that says more about yourself than you could explain with words,” Joshua believes. His inked- arm candy with a message mimics the intensity of Joshua’s ’70s patterned Marc Jacobs pants. He wears them with vegan John Fluevog shoes and an Alter vest made from a restructured suit with an organic cotton American Apparel tee underneath. (The conventional cotton industry in Uzbekistan, the cotton-producing capital of the world, is like Chernobyl he revealed – children there are being born with no limbs because of the excessive amounts of pesticides on the crops.) However, after witnessing disciples of the four B’s in droves at a recent U2 concert at Giants Stadium, I’m not sure if Joshua’s theory that men will be able to expose their legs in short shorts like women do without ridicule – a notion that has come from his newfound love for pulling his socks up over his pants – is going to catch on anytime soon.

If you love Joshua, you may also like Dylan Treleven, Freddie Leiba and Max Vernon.

Next to his grandmother, music is Elijah’s love. His signature high top hairdo is influenced by the hip hop duo Kid-N-Play and his passion for basketball attire reflects the style of R&B trio Bell Biv DeVoe, along with a devout respect for Michael Jordan, reflected in the legend’s jersey that he wears with a Chicago Bulls jacket. People like Slick Rick – for his storytelling about adventures and chance encounters alike and Bruno Mars – for writing about whatever comes to his mind, like the song Talking to the Moon – have given Elijah license to emote freely, but none more than Tupac Shakur’s book “The Rose that Grew from Concrete,” which motivated Elijah to write poetry. “There’s a line that is my favorite: ‘If our love is really true, I would gladly die and watch over you.’” When asked about his favorite places to travel, Elijah said sitting under the Brooklyn Bridge and writing his spoken word rhymes.

Kid Love is the name of Elijah’s alter ego which hangs from his chunky gold rope chain necklace. Elijah says his friends gave him the moniker in homage to the status symbol of the rappers of the late ’80s and early ’90s. However, he feels that “Kid Love” stands more for his young, yet mature demeanor. “I’m all over funny and outgoing. I don’t say no, like if everybody said: ‘Oh let’s go skydiving,’ I’d be like, “I’m going to jump first…[I'm] the outgoing one, the dancer, the funny guy, everybody’s friend…” His favorite person on StyleLikeU is Liz Baca not only for her ’80s schoolteacher style, but for her old soul spirit: “I get told that [I am an old soul] everyday because people don’t understand dressing is not just style. To me, it’s who I am.”

If you love Elijah, you may also like Matt Parrotti, Hiroto and Quinn Aston.

Larkin has made six official albums and it wasn’t until she turned twenty-one that she realized that putting on more lipstick might sell more of them. Her mom was determined to have her daughter focused on her accomplishments rather than being beautiful by making sure that no one on the commune complimented Larkin on her looks. This was in part her manifestation of a rebellion against the fashion industry’s effects on Larkin’s grandmother, who was a model and suffered from a lifetime of bad eating habits which eventually killed her. It wasn’t until the age of ten that Larkin had a notion of what being pretty was, which gave her the indescribable gift of being confident in her thoughts and opinions and unconcerned with the prospect of growing old and nobody finding her attractive anymore. “People were always complimenting me on being outwardly creative…[my mom] was teaching me how to sew and how to paint and fix things, and there was always this idea that if we want something, first we’re gonna try to make it.” Instead of spending money on a wedding dress, Larkin bought a sewing machine and made one herself for the first time out of a bunch of older wedding and lace dresses and feathers. The result wasn’t something hippy dippy, but instead a sculptural, three-dimensional couture creation that lends her more of a regal air than a Stepford wife in wedding white.

Endlessly multidimensional, Larkin is as much a sweet country girl in her floral dress with a hyper crinoline, as she is a slick and dark sophisticate in a coat she made out of Persian upholstery fabric. She plays psychedelic folk music and travels all around the world singing about “morbid and grim things” that are “definitely influenced by the Grimm fairy tales which my mother read to me all the time because she was so proud that my father was somehow distantly related to the Grimm brothers. Children fairy tales are so dark and I always wanted to make music that was kind of like that, that children would love and people would find beautiful but just below the surface, there’s all of the strange and dark things that are very real in human life.” Whether in haunting wings on a lace-up corset dress or earthy and authentic Cherokee moccasins, she is as omnipotent on the stage as she is in life with what she refers to as her freak sensibility. When studying sculpture at her alma mater, Larkin discovered her inner musical artist by turning her art exhibits into performances in an effort to exaggerate what she felt was her misfit status there. “Some people are just never satisfied [with the status quo] and I think a lot of those times, those people become artists,” Larkin keenly points out.

If you love Larkin, you may also like Oliver and Kira, Joanne Petit-Frere, Sielian Lie and Guillaume Boulez.

Fragile and intense are words that E. E. Cummings once put together, Valerie says, and it describes how she sees this dichotomy of herself in her own hands. The tender hand holds the rings that she never takes off, including a silver one from her Grandmother Vera with whom she coincidentally shares the Yiddish name Veykhna, which means the tender one and an emerald birthstone from her mother, who raised her as a single mom and whom Valerie describes as among the amusing and epic women that have defined her life. Her fervent right hand remains bare. Valerie has the courage to admit that she went through a deep and at times overwhelmingly painful search for how to be her “intense, beautiful, fragile, alive, victorious, tender, dynamic, performer-self” for many years. She graduated from the prestigious Juilliard School having done nine films, lots of press and walked the red carpet, but she was not at peace. She recalls attending the opening of her movie premiere for Queenie in Love and thinking, “I don’t full-on think that this is such a great film.” It was also a time in which she was uncomfortable with getting overly sexy roles. It became Valerie’s priority to drop out of acting in order to own herself first, having the confidence to know that the great performer inside her wasn’t going to go away. “What I needed to become was comfortable in my own skin,” she says.

Through the practice of Raja yoga, Valerie no longer romanticizes the myth that says to be brilliant at what you do as an artist, you have to suffer. “Not only do I not have to be suffering… but working on yourself not only leads to your own transformation but to world transformation, because we cannot change the world without changing ourselves.” Her most recent creative rebirth has come as a musician with her electronic pop opera album, Antenna. It is an anthem to being a believer and a performer, “somewhat like a mission statement,” and it documents how heartache can transform into freedom. Like an antenna, Valerie feels that as an artist she is not just one thing, but a chameleon that can channel many talents.

Valerie loves singing the standards like her Grandmother Vera’s favorite, “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” but she is a pioneer deep down. She can find a classic wedding dress in a tree and make it look the epitome of unconscious hip and on Antenna, she has experimented with different layers of harmony through which she uses her ear to inherently compose music through her voice. She wears her grandmother Vera’s folkloric green wedding dress that matches her eyes not because she cares about what she “puts on,” but because she wants to archive her life, a process she feels has added to her overall sense of empowerment. A story of leaving her suitcase behind, when checking it would have caused her to miss her flight to Berlin, says it all. Clothes do not give power to Valerie – she gives power to them and to everything that she does.

If you love Valerie, you may also like Beatrix Ost, Lisa Moffie and Virginie Sommet.

Stacy describes getting scouted for this site in a uniform that’s her style though she did not choose it as an “odd” chapter in the mental chronicling of her life. In the words of the writer that she is, she says, “I thought about the [coincidence] just in terms of a narrative, and what I do when I dress each day, it too is a uniform… but for me it’s really mostly about function, like building something everyday.” Her work uniform, which she wears at her job at the magic-filled Boom Boom Room, is a mod, boxy, white satin dress that evokes a nurse from The Jetsons. In it, Stacy feels that serving cocktails is more about cinema and ambiance, like stepping onto a stage. “In terms of style, when I tried on that uniform, I knew that I was meant to work there for a while.”

She is currently writing a book about her experience at what is one of New York’s hottest clubs on top of The Standard Hotel, with its 360-degree view of Manhattan and curated cast of characters. That, and every day since she arrived in New York City two years ago, has comprised the best chapter of her life. Known to be a floater and a loner, having the freedom to move on is what propels Stacy forward. Whether it’s leaving her hometown of Portland to go to Tuscon – she drove her car spontaneously into the middle of the desert to get out of the rain – or purging her closet of excess clothing so that she could make peace with living in the confines of a NYC apartment.

What remains in Stacy’s wardrobe would give anyone a sigh of relief with its trendless function and class. Among her pieces are heritage brands that are simple, utilitarian and not loud, like her ex’s Converse and the exemplary pair of Levi’s, or a vintage cashmere plaid coat with a built-in scarf. There isn’t a bit of waste or glut to be found and lots of breathing room for reading her coveted short stories while beginning a new life as the author of her own novel. Always harkening back to something utilitarian while chic, the experience is key for Stacy, whether it’s the relationship she’s developed with owners of Out of the Closet, her favorite vintage store in Bridgehampton, or her fantasies of dressing for the airport in the ’60s, hatboxes in tow.

If you love Stacy, you may also like Hannah Dilworth, Kim Johnson and Sarah Hamilton.

Identical to his childhood, books are everywhere in Michael’s home. In addition to classical antiques, china and silk curtains draped over the doorways as if stepping into another time, except for the occasional hint of modernity with the Keith Haring prints and a ’70s LOVE poster, which reminds me of his pink velvet blazer with orange silk Indian-print ascot. Tradition means a lot to Michael to say the least, and he shows no signs of resenting the past despite his honest and poignent account of his father’s fear of his son’s homosexuality when he wanted books on the European decorative arts at the library one day. Michael prefers tweaking the past rather than overthrowing it, and he does so with his clothes and the certain changes of color or pattern that counteract the staid or boring. He dramatizes jeans, a gingham shirt, an old cardigan and red Converse sneakers with an indigenous scarf and punctuates a velvet blazer with a DIY mirrored shawl and Kenneth Jay Lane bug pin. Unsurprisingly, Michael looks to Langston Hughes as someone worth emulating – the poet was a bohemian and an artist who expounded his causes while maintaining a striking sartorial elegance.

If you love Michael, you may also like Thomas Crowley, Brett Banks and Michael Musto.

“If everyone was living their true vibration, that thing within them that is their most real, the world would be a fantastic place. But with all of the cages and boxes we put ourselves in and we allow other people to put us in, we can’t even move,” Nacinimod says. There is a peaceful intensity about him that reveals itself in his quest to have his own version of a Rastafarian cap and not the one that everyone else wears to seeking out the godfather rapper of the Civil Rights Era, Abiodun Oyewole of The Last Poets, as a mentor. Nacinimod is a writer, musician, actor, playwright and poet of the spoken word. “New is old,” he chants, as his hand knit colorful and indigenous jackets express.

If you love Nacinimod, you may also like Olek, Tucson John and Luxor Tavella.