By Alicia Yau
CW: I am about to abuse the -core suffix to NO END
You may, as I have, become a peripheral observer to the veritable revolving door of aesthetic trends that dominate internet discourse in recent years. (If not, feel free to charitably describe to me the alien sensation of touching grass). It seems inevitable these days that a new something-core will come to prominence to become lauded and villainized before coalescing into the mass of all the trends that came before it like a ghastly communal chewed bubble gum wad. In 2023 alone minimalism has been repackaged as ‘quiet luxury,’ barbie-core created a tidal wave of femme-leaning girlhood-worshipping aesthetics, and other terrific buzzwords that I can’t recall for the life of me float nebulously in the blogosphere. (Coastal grandmother? Was ballet-core a moment this year or the last?) How did we get here? Where will we go? Why is it happening, cotton eye joe?
You probably don’t remember the last time wearing Doc Martens signaled your devotion to the alternative canon, or any era where buying electric blue hair dye and a hair clipper necessitated some metaphysical membership card. Going back even further, an eyebrow piercing definitely might not seem so impressive an act of rebellion to you as it did your grandparents.
To begin at the relatively modern conception of aesthetic movements, we look towards the evolution of ‘subculture.’ Subcultures are a conceptual tool defined as an ethnic, social, economic, or regional group within a larger ecosystem of culture, having beliefs or interests that render them distinct from the latter mainstream. These groups typically converge and evolve naturally around political ideas, media, or lifestyles; historical examples like the goths, the beatniks, the hippies, and the bright young things have been both canonized and refashioned with these elements in mind. It’s also worth mentioning that often they emerge or develop strong footholds within the youth, and so “youth culture” can be synonymous with this idea.
Subcultures of the 20th century were quite defined in their roots and characteristics, exuding socially transformative power through currency of ideas. The British punk movement of the 70s, which grew from the disenfranchisement of the youth towards the socioeconomic malaise pervading Europe, in particular was revered and reviled in equal measure for the anti-establishment values it championed. This was reflected in upcycled, do-it-yourself fashions featuring defaced and/or deconstructed garments haphazardly assembled with safety pins, discordant accessorizing using padlocks and chains, and socially scandalizing body modification, in conjunction with music that was edgy, unpolished, and chaotic, with lyrics that carried scathing criticism of institutional rot and mainstream stagnation.
This brand of subculture persisted into the 2000s, where emo punk rock prevailed and hyper-feminine aesthetics with figureheads in Britney Spears and Paris Hilton were widely touted. What caused its pivotal shift was arguably the rise of mass media and mass production.
Until this point most subcultures had operated on the fringes of the mainstream in a mode of nicheness that sometimes implied either social alienation or purposeful exclusion. The effect of mass media in creating interconnected spaces has been immensely positive in increasing accessibility and participation, and yet it has removed a cornerstone of older culture movements in intense localization. Mass media has allowed for elements of sub-genres to be co-opted by mainstream forces: Vivienne Westwood and Thrasher are no longer respectively the heartland of the punk movement and a publication perused mostly by die-hard skate fans; their logos are emblazoned across unimaginative white tees worn by paparazzi-pursued celebrities and splashed across TikTok fashion hauls. Where the internet unites it simultaneously homogenizes. Therefore, this erosion of monoculture has guaranteed that there is less of a “mainstream” to rebel against or to be differentiated from. The heightened accessibility of these subcultures also means they hold less gravity, and younger generations tend to identify less strongly with a singular genre/aesthetic as a result.
It may be observed that this newly emerged form of subculture/aesthetics carries with it a feeling of commercialization. Mass production has made it entirely too easy for companies to involve themselves in growing cultural movements- nowadays, before communities even fully develop around an aesthetic, it’s headlining the front page of a fashion retailer in a heartbeat. The fashion industry isn’t the only suspect, as evidenced by the aggressive consistency with which Spotify pushes me their “sad girl starter packs” and “coconut girl vibes.” It’s no coincidence that the ephemerality of today’s cultural moments and aesthetics trend closely with the disappearance of organic (slow-cooked, individual-driven) cultural substance, while (company) curated consumption has taken its place. The nature of TikTok and short form, high volume content must also shoulder the blame for the commodification of subcultural identity. There’s a lot to be said about how the relentless assault of short form media has truncated trend cycles and encouraged hyper consumption, but I admittedly already sit here with several cans of worms laying open before me, so that’s the TL; DR of it.
Your existence as a coquette, a dark academia student, a cottage dweller, or some insert-noun-here type of girl will, of course, hinge on ceaseless voracity. Fashions, lifestyles, and hobbies are trappings of consumerism inextricably tied to self-actualisation in the modern age.
The commercial success of aesthetics must be the subject of such reverence in the corporate world. It really goes that whenever a teenager with a TikTok following innocuously coins a term like ‘mermaidcore’ a marketing executive somewhere falls to their knees and shakes and salivates. The consumption required to adhere to aesthetics is abundant, and its worst effects are amplified by the way people increasingly treat identities like dress-up.
The future of aesthetics and consumption lies uncertain. I’m not here to suggest a return to the localized somewhat gatekeeper-y style of old subculture, nor am I here to demonize anyone who’s bought into any aesthetic trends or simply enjoys content of this nature. It’s an interesting social phenomenon the extent to which we now define ourselves by the material blueprints of curated identities, but as a societal collective we should probably keep in mind that self-curation is a slippery slope and it’s okay to exist as something unsellable in turn.