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Have we all hit fashion burnout?

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7 months ago

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Have we all hit fashion burnout?

I’ve felt like an outsider for most of my life; I wasn’t very popular growing up and before I turned 30 I was diagnosed as neurodivergent. But back in 2007, I experienced a social saving grace thanks to… Blair Waldorf. When the original Gossip Girl aired it was all anyone at my school could talk about, and I finally found acceptance with my fashion-obsessed peers by adopting Blair’s trademark preppy style. In today’s TikTok and Pinterest-obsessed world, we’d call this Blaircore. For 15-year-old me, Blairecore became a non-verbal way for me to bond with other girls; a sort of social code-signalling. And it was how I survived the last few years of school.

Fast-forward to 2024 and everything has become a preface to a ‘core’, or an ‘aesthetic’, or a type of ‘girl’ you yourself can be. That is if you follow the guidelines prescribed by the internet’s most viral content creators. Gen Z’s penchant for boxing modes of dressing into niches like Balletcore (think dancers off-duty) and Quiet Luxury (logo-free, high-quality clothing) is the newest star in the universe of self-discovery. But is it a good thing?

You’ve likely heard of the Clean Girl Aesthetic, marked by glowing skin, scraped-back hair and minimalist clothing. Or maybe you’ve seen influencers clad in Cottagecore, which visually manifests as romantic maxi dresses, basket bags, and lace. Every miniscule style persona gets meme-ified and ‘starter packed’ into thousands of digital mood boards, reels, and TikTok tutorials showing you how to look a certain way’. Dark Academia. Office Siren. Gorpcore. Coquette. The looks are endless, as are the ‘must-have’ items and brand names that come bundled into each one.

I’ve found that many of us aren’t that different from our impressionable teenage selves who will blindly copy others, especially when it comes to our closets. In my book entitled Why Don’t I Have Anything To Wear? I ask readers: how old do you feel when you’re stressed about shopping? Regardless of our age, none of us are completely immune to ruminating on whether our peers will approve of our outfit. If we really have graduated from our high school selves, then why is it that social media driven ‘aesthetics’ guide our shopping decisions more than ever?

The power of trends

The birthplace of this phenomena is TikTok, which is driven by young fashion lovers whose main hobby (or full-time job) is to post examples of their unique style online. Through taking inspiration from each other, the creation of ‘cores’ is a fluid and community-based endeavour. Lolade Omole, a student in London says, “cores are different to the ‘normal trends’ that tend to start with big names. With cores, they can really stem from anywhere.” It points to why TikTok trends are so impactful on our shopping habits – they have an authenticity and relevance that we’ve been missing from online content for a long time now.

Fast fashion brands have been quick to capitalise on the ‘cores’ bandwagon. As shoppers, our ability to binge on the conveyor belt of style stereotypes is facilitated through the high volume, low price, low-quality model of manufacturing fast fashion. The goal for these brands is not to sell us quality lasting clothes, but instead to sell us a ‘dream’. For the ‘bargain’ price of £29.99, a dress comes wrapped in the fantasy that we’ll be wearing red gingham and white linen while picking fresh basil for our Heirloom salads in Italy. That aesthetic is called Tomato Girl, ICYMI. The pitfall that comes with this is that these ‘cores’ are very much tied to imaginary lifestyles, which is linked to longevity – or the lack thereof. Tomato Girl and its summery vibe doesn’t really account for the UK’s temperamental weather, and this rapid clothing consumption has disastrous effects on the planet.

What’s more is that it’s impacting the secondhand purveyors who lie at the heart of Gen Z shopping culture. According to Alice Timperley, a PR freelancer and Depop seller, “around 2018, trends were very consistent, and so my Depop stock stayed similar for three or four years. Since TikTok has blown up, there’s a new one every single month. I’m struggling because I have stock that was popular two months ago and now, people don’t want it anymore”. Alice laments the rapid growth of new aesthetics. “Because of social media, you don’t want to be seen to be wearing what everybody else is,” she says. “If people weren’t posting their outfits everyday, people might care slightly less about being ahead of the trend.” The emergence of these cores and aesthetics is directly linked to a desire for self-articulation in a visual-first digital age.

The TikTok paradox

TikTok aesthetics can be simultaneously helpful but also prohibitive to understanding our authentic style. They provide achievable styling ideas as they’re generated by ‘girl next door’ creators working with accessible budgets, as opposed to what traditional high fashion editorials can offer. Fashion student Juliette Garnier suggests we shouldn’t pigeonhole ourselves, explaining, “I can take inspiration from multiple niches in the TikTok community, and create something unique to me.”

Another way to reject the hamster wheel is to prioritise quality over quantity. We might choose natural fabrics rather than synthetic ones and inspect whether a garment is well-constructed or not. Going through these steps can help to build a mental filter that prevents us from being ensnared in a vicious cycle of spending money and creating waste.

I kept aesthetic-hopping until my late 20s, and eventually that fashion burnout finally hit me. I discovered that the best way to find a community and a wardrobe I love was not to copy and paste viral looks, but to accept that I like what I like. Some popular items will never work for me and that’s ok. I have my own personal style now that I call Slutty Grandma Aesthetic and, yes, you’re allowed to laugh. (Fashion is supposed to be fun after all, not a chore.) The sustainable look involves 100% natural knitwear, mini skirts, and vintage-inspired jewellery. As for Blaircore, well, let’s just say her wardrobe will always have a special place in my memory, but I’m no longer beholden to a headband and coloured tights.

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