Early in my career I dressed for castings like I was auditioning to be anyone. Whatever the season's reference was - workwear, gorpcore, tailoring - I'd show up as a careful imitation of it. A casting director in SoHo finally put me out of my misery: "We've already got the clothes. We're casting the person."
That sentence rebuilt my wardrobe. I went home and kept only what I actually reach for: straight-leg denim, plain heavyweight tees, one good chore coat, boots I've resoled twice, and my grandfather's watch. Five things, effectively. My uniform.
The uniform does two jobs. On the practical side, castings want a blank canvas - clean lines that let them project the campaign onto you. But the deeper job is psychological. When you dress like yourself, you walk in as somebody. When you dress like a reference image, you walk in as a question mark.
Street style photographers figured this out decades ago: the people worth shooting aren't wearing the most; they're wearing the most *them*. Consistency reads as confidence, and confidence is the only accessory that shows up in every frame.
Find your five things. Buy them well once. Let the industry do the dressing up - that's what they're paying you for.