Some women mean so much to us not because of what we know about them, but because of what we don’t. Even the most beloved tastemakers of any era — from Jane Birkin to Kylie Jenner — sustain their influence through interviews, campaigns, and calculated visibility. Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy never played that game. Despite marrying one of the most desired men on the planet, John F. Kennedy Jr., she gave almost no interviews. What we know of her comes largely from paparazzi photographs taken between the ages of 28 — when she met JFK Jr. — and 33, when she died tragically in a private plane crash off the coast of Martha's Vineyard.

I don’t remember the first time I saw CBK. I might have been 13 or 23. It could have been Instagram, Tumblr, or a late-night spiral through Google Images. What I do know is that I’ve been struck ever since. Struck enough that, six months ago, when I hosted an “All-American” party to celebrate my green card, I urged a friend to dress as her. Struck enough that when the first images from FX’s new anthology series Love Story were released, I joined the chorus of outrage over the inaccurate costuming.

According to Variety, the initial photos were styled for lighting and color tests, not actual scenes. Creator Ryan Murphy reportedly released them preemptively, knowing paparazzi would capture filming in New York. Still, the internet revolted. The coats worn by actress Sarah Pidgeon — Carolyn was famous for her statement-making outerwear — looked cheap, and her Birkin, perhaps unused.

It’s rare for the first wave of criticism around a biographical series to focus on wardrobe rather than casting. But CBK is different. Her style, while timeless, both epitomized the ’90s and subtly pushed against it. When bridal fashion favored drop waists and dramatic trains, she chose a minimalist white slip dress and sheer gloves — a look that allegedly shifted wedding trends overnight. She oscillated between backward baseball caps and polished headbands, leopard print and strict monochrome minimalism.

Beyond style, there’s something about Caroline’s beauty that endures, regardless of current standards. At Calvin Klein, where she worked as a publicist, colleagues described her as “striking.” She didn’t have the exaggerated features that defined the Instagram decade. She wore little makeup beyond a swipe of red lipstick. Her beauty — predating filler, keratin treatments, and elaborate skincare rituals — felt imperfect in a way that now reads as radical. People who knew her recall that she sometimes showed up to work without brushing her hair.

It would be easy to envy someone so effortlessly cool, but Caroline’s normalcy made her accessible. What Love Story appears to understand is this sense of nonchalance. Those who knew her have said Sarah Pidgeon captures something essential. Whether that proves true remains to be seen, but any girl with a Pinterest board can recognize when a production gets the aesthetic right.

Because she refused to fully engage with public life, Caroline remains a kind of blank canvas — a figure onto whom we project our most sophisticated selves. Recreating her outfits becomes a way of embodying what she symbolized: a life in the city, a dream job, a dreamier boyfriend. A crisp white shirt and red lipstick aren’t fashion choices so much as declarations — that you’re too busy living a full, expansive life to fuss over your reflection.

That’s the Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy story we fell in love with. And I’m not sure we’ll ever fall out of it.

All images courtesy of FX