PERSONAL STYLE
If you take a look at how fashion evolved throughout history, it’s pretty easy to assign each decade to a dominant trend or defining style.
Take the Roaring ‘20s, where surging post-war opulence birthed the feather-trimmed hats and bejewelled dresses of flapper fashion. Or the hippies of the ‘60s, an artistic subculture lead by college youth in loose, patterned silhouettes who promoted peace and harmony with nature. So in our decade–propelled into disorder right off the bat with a global pandemic, economic recessions, and social unrest–you’d expect a defined subculture to emerge more than ever, right?
Well, you’d be wrong.
In fact, this new decade of fashion has taken a sharp turn unlike anything it’s seen before.
Just think of all the identity crises and hair dye escapades we went through during quarantine, everyone’s TikTok FYP flicking between whipped coffee, cottagecore escapism, and questionable dances. What better time to redefine your entire appearance than government-mandated alone time, right? Except choosing an “aesthetic” in 2022 is harder than being a kid in a candy store. Everything looks good, and everyone wants to try everything, all at once.
There’s no single social norm–instead, the most popular looks can be sorted into at least four distinct categories, with even more subcultures branching out from these root influences. Today, we’re going to dive into the four core aesthetics that have defined Gen Z in the past few years–with special attention to their history, societal significance, and projected effects on the fashion industry in the seasons yet to come. And maybe–just maybe–we’ll stumble across an overarching theme to characterise Gen Z’s dizzying proliferation of personal style.
Old Money, New Problems!
Pinterest
Think of Old Money like…Academia’s insufferably pretentious, Gatsby-esque sibling.
Defined by crisp, clean-cut neutrals and strong primary tones, Old Money and its variations embody the effortlessness and refined nonchalance that only come with blue-blooded, generational wealth. From the regency-core craze that came with Bridgerton’s new season to the “Coastal Grandma” aesthetic that’s been topping trending searches lately, the “Old Money” style isn’t going out of fashion any time soon.
“Old Money” owes much of its foundation to preppy style–a subculture that traces its name back to British preparatory schools for boys. These prestigious, high-brow institutions took root in America–specifically in the Northeast–solidifying a tight, private social network of the upper echelons of society. Their core values involve inheritance, legacy, and family name–and like any gatekept social rank, members were expected to look the part to be deemed acceptable. Soon, though, the stuffy wool suits, hats, and tailcoats that had been staples back in Britain were soon traded for polo shirts and cardigans by younger students who wanted a more casual wardrobe suitable for studying and leisure. Coined the “Ivy League Look,” this included neutral toned chinos, button-up shirts, loafers, and varsity sweaters apt for sailing, rowing, tennis, or golf.
Preppy fashion wasn’t really considered revolutionary, though, until women came into the picture. Take Vassar College, 1950: the most illustrious out of the Seven Sisters women’s colleges. Its strict dress code enforced everything from day dresses to crinoline hoops and parasols, despite the university’s male counterparts having adopted more modern, comfortable clothing. Frustrated, the girls began to rebel, dressing in tweed skirts, bermuda shorts, and knee socks–attire they felt better encapsulated their forward-thinking values as a new generation of liberal arts students. This “Vassar Girl” style took the East Coast by storm, with young women adopting polo coats, saddle shoes, and Brooks Brothers sweaters–a brand that catered solely to men.
Prep’s original values, though, stayed largely the same. As a product of WASP society–White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant–it pushed conservative values, with an increasing urgency to distinguish themselves from the “rising tide” of the nouveau riche that were emerging from the poor and working classes. Just look at the unchanging polo shirts and school emblem jerseys through the decades, or high society’s unspoken rules about the number of buttons on a shirt or the length of one’s pants–details that give away just how high someone's social standing might be.
Old Money aims for a trained nonchalance, combining athleisure with more classy, traditional elements. There’s a hint of androgyny, love for layering, and the crucial importance of wearing the right brand–minus the logomania, of course, seen in today’s West coast new rich. According to Lisa Birnbach, author of the Official Preppy Handbook, it’s “consistency, nonchalant charm, drinking, effortlessness, athleticism, discipline, and public spiritedness.”
The fashionalisation of prep finally peaked in 1980, making the style increasingly accessible amongst the masses. Today, Old Money manifests itself in the all-time favourite button down shirt, tennis skirts, the sweater vest craze, and cardigans, leaning towards a white, cream,navy, brown, beige and black palette. The modern-day blueprints for these silhouettes range from Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger to Chanel and Miu Miu. Details like dainty jewellery and pearls remain staple accents. As you’d expect, searches on Tiktok for leather loafers, pleated skirts, peter pan collar shirts, and pearl necklaces were up 24-29% in March 2020. What’s changed, though, is a decreased emphasis on the exact brand–with so many online retailers, anyone can don a pleated skirt or argyle vest and emulate the style, regardless of authenticity.
As Ralph Lauren himself says, “Not everybody went to Harvard or Yale. Not everybody has that perfect pair of old shoes. But they’re still sophisticated enough to know those things are worth having.”
With Old Money comes the aforementioned Light and Dark Academias–blending Renaissance and Neo-Gothic elements with Prep as their base. Similarly, the “model off duty trend” highlights the appeal of being so rich you can afford to look careless–shrugging on a Balenciaga hoodie and tights, for instance. Popularised by Kendall Jenner, the controversial subgenre posed the question: is it really fashion, or is the wearer just a slim white model?
You can’t really blame anyone for having this sentiment, though. After all, the call to hyper-romanticise our lives during that long stretch of quarantine was beyond tempting. The skyrocketing popularity of Inventing Anna, The Great Gatsby, or even Gossip Girl’s neo-prep revival season has us all dreaming of basking on a sailboat or yacht, waltzing through our ritzy, french rococo mansions for elaborate dinner parties. Lorenzo Serafini’s Fall/Winter 2021 collection–inspired by the year of online schooling that robbed so many students of an in-person experience–voiced that palpable frustration with our Covid-induced stasis from virtual zoom classes and working from home.
If anything, this dreamy, rose-tinted reaching for the past is a “counterweight and companion to the loud, whimsical design associated with Gen Z and the name brand-heavy “California rich” look the Kardashians made inescapable,” Rebecca Jennings writes for Vox. It’s a backlash to the influencer mania and tech billionaires that seem to be launching us towards a future at a velocity way too fast for us to stomach.
Of course, glorified versions of yet another elitist, predominantly white subculture can hardly be considered socially conscious, but it’s worth noting that Old Money’s reemergence coincides with an unprecedented time period. And it’s one that has the potential to free it from its once-gatekept reputation, increasing its accessibility through recycling and commodification–two things the fashion industry does best.
Y2Kraze
Pinterest
Speaking of nostalgia for the past, let’s talk about the other side of the spectrum: society’s latest obsession with Y2K!
I really thought I’d seen the last of my low waisted pants and metallic eyeshadow back in 2010–along with bejewelled flip phones & MySpace–until it came back with a new vengeance in 2020.
The Y2K craze is a textbook definition of fashion’s 20-year rule–essentially, since trends work in a cyclical way, popular pieces typically go out of style for two decades before making a new, revived appearance. The original 2000s aesthetic was a futuristic echo of the vibrant 80s, and needless to say, 2020’s version is right on time.
The term Y2K comes from a computer bug back in 1997–and its relation to the aesthetic stems from North America’s spirit of the time. Buzzing with anticipation over the turn of the millennium, “Y2K” embodied the optimism towards technological advancements & futuristic design the West was moving towards at the time. Cargo & utilitywear were all the rage–see T.L.C’s music videos–as were sunglasses, leather, & latex bodysuits (à la Matrix and Britney Spears, respectively). Metallics and colour palettes of icy blue, green, orange, and chrome defined the music videos for popular artists like Hype Williams, Aaliyah, and Janet Jackson.
The later 2000s, though, took a sharp turn in the opposite direction: 9/11, the Iraq war, and overall instability injected a disillusionment that prompted youth to turn towards excess and opulence–launching the “McBling” era with the iconic Juicy Couture velour tracksuits and rhinestone-studded “party girl” we know so well. Needless to say, both McBling–what Lauren Wong from Daily Titan calls the “hungover cousin of Y2K”–and its predecessor have the Internet under their spell.
But what exactly was it that made 2000s fashion so compelling–to the point where the hype during this revival seems to rival that of the original? Well, at the start of the millenia, dozens of young designers everywhere were beginning to emerge and make waves in the fashion scene. Brands like Alexander McQueen, Dior, and Gucci embraced the changing youth culture head-on, bringing new collaborations and trends with them that the new generation ran with.
Yep–don’t tell Old Money, but the newly affluent, nouveau riche had practically taken the fashion industry by its reins and left anything vintage in the dust.
The It Girls of the era were Paris Hilton, Kate Moss, and Mischa Barton, whose slim, airbrushed bodies sported exposed thongs strings in low waisted jeans and strappy going-out tops. High-end names like Vivienne Westwood and Burberry began targeting the younger demographic, introducing punkish influences and tartan patterns respectively. TV shows and film were more influential in defining fashion than ever: Mean Girls, Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, and Clueless are just some of the on-screen trendsetters that defined an era of graphics and texture-focused looks.
So when Bella Hadid and Kim K sported outfits that exposed a flash of their hips–a nod to the whale tails & g-string trends of the 2000s– keywords like “pelvic & hip cutouts” immediately saw a sharp increase in searches on shopping sites like Lyst. Within months, strategically cut-out pieces lined the displays of H&M and Zara en masse. Strappy tops have made a comeback in the form of asymmetrical cuts & exposed trim; chunky footwear and neon patterns are favoured by Gen Z tastemakers Dua Lipa and Doja Cat; animal print–a fashion frenemy–has taken pastelised or neutral-toned renditions. Urban Outfitters has padded their inventory with Juicy Couture, experimental denim designs, tiny shoulder purses, and graphic prints emulating Ed Hardy’s iconic imagery. The disparate styles of Billie Eilish and Nava Rose just go to show the range in styling that this Y2K revival can take on.
2020 Y2K owes much of its booming popularity to the saturation of the aesthetic in pop culture: take HBO Max’s Euphoria, for instance, and the iron grip it had on Gen Z and millennials alike during its airing period. Its gritty subject matter–juxtaposed with vivid makeup looks & striking visuals–has turned “Euphoria makeup” and “Euphoria high school fashion” into standalone terms for viewers to emulate. Called out for creating unrealistic, ostentatious designs, Heidi Bivens, Euphoria’s costume designer, began taking this in stride. She mixes thrifted pieces with designer clothes from the 90s and early 2000s to create the butterfly tops, tracksuits, and miniskirts that feel partly fashion-forward, partly nostalgic–and 100% Euphoria.
Meanwhile, Netflix’s controversial revamp of the Winx Saga–namely, the heated backlash its styling received from fans–solidified our definition of what this new Y2K really looked like. Most of us were quick to turn our noses up at the grungier, Tumblr-esque styling that once dominated mall shelves during the mid-2010s, while Youtubers like OANH created their own Winx Club renditions and garnered over a million views. Complete with pieces like patterned and denim miniskirts, cutout halter tops, metallic shirring, and graphic tanks, the video blogger’s ode to the revamped aesthetic was unanimously approved of.
“Imagine how successful the netflix reboot could have been if they would have dressed like this,” reads the top liked comment.
“NETFLIX NEEDS TO HIRE YOU AS THEIR STYLIST,” another raves.
Perhaps what makes Gen Z’s Y2K different–besides a more polished, curated selection of retro items–is their reclamation of an aesthetic that was once exclusively catered towards a single, unrealistic body type & beauty standard (re: the airbrushed model with legs for days on every magazine). This time, it seems, we’re making it work for us, regardless of size, skin tone, and hair texture.
From neo-Y2K we got the sub-niches of E-Boys and E-Girls (a spinoff of scene and punk influences from the 2000s), Indie Kid (a more warm-toned, casual rendition), and the new favourite “subversive” aesthetic–fusing the cutouts, asymmetry, and straps of the earlier millenia with a more contemporary twist. You have Instagram icons like @virtual.brat, @aimiracleqiqii, @xyahaaliyah–all channeling various aspects of Y2K and McBling to curate their own individual styles. And that’s what makes this rebirth of everything dazzling, futuristic, and unabashedly mismatched all the more fun.
Streetwear
Pinterest
Arguably the most comfortable on this list, but don’t let streetwear’s simplistic appearance fool you–its practicality-centred staples are deeply rooted in the turbulent youth movements from 80s Americana.
Known as the Golden Age of Hip Hop in the West Coast’s Bay Area, nascent rappers in Black communities were also simultaneously trying to define their style. Decades before the popularity of urbanwear powerhouses like Nike and Adidas, rappers often resorted to customising brands’ clothing to their liking. Red Monkey Jeans, white graphic tees, big glasses, jerseys, snapbacks and Air Forces were the beloved uniform of the time–seen at sideshows, clubs, and turf dances all around Oakland, California.
Dapper Dan– hailed the “godfather of urban and streetwear” –was ultimately among the first to bring curated high fashion into the hip hop scene for other artists like Salt-N-Pepa and Jay-Z. The birth and growth of these urban brands took off in the late 90s, with brands like 5001 Flavors leading the custom clothing industry. When magazines and music videos pushed the dynamic hip hop scene all the way out into the suburbs, converging the urban and skateboarding markets, streetwear’s staying power began to solidify. Skaters–who had been dominated by the punk scene until then–found themselves swept up by the new hip hop sound, adopting baggy pants, oversized graphic tees, Vans, and skinny jeans into their identity.
But streetwear was about to meet a second upheaval in 2010, when social media changed the game for fashion brands everywhere. With a global market and marketing platform now at every designer’s disposal, 2010s drove the empires of sneaker culture and Street Luxe. Think Yeezys, Jordans, Supreme, Stüssy, and BAPE: designed based on accessible exclusivity and collectibility.
Dropping an extremely limited number of releases, the Street Luxe and sneakerhead markets depend on resellers like Stockx and Grailed Resellers to hike up their prices and generate “hype” around the seemingly rare, desirable product–a business model that’s earned its devoted followers the nickname “hypebeast.”
“Cop, flip, invest,” streetwear vlogger Reggie Casual explains–the streetwear fashion scene can be an exhausting one, designed to punish its wearer for not being “in the know” about the values of its items. The new face of streetwear ultimately resulted from the sports industries and consumers aligning with luxury, and is often associated with the new rich youth & influencer classes
Take BAPE, for instance: with Japanese creator Nigo drawing heavily from hip hop from a young age and staying active himself in the DJing scene, he began combining American pop culture and style into his designs–creating pieces like the iconic BAPE camo and Air Force-reminiscent Bapestas that were flaunted by artists abroad, including Biggie Smalls, Pharrel, Kanye, and Lil Wayne. Most prominent streetwear brands like BAPE create a lifestyle through their brand–be it affiliations with the rap, dance, or skater communities.
Of course, not all streetwear is outrageously expensive–and no, you don’t have to read up on daunting resale economies just to wear a nice hoodie. See, streetwear might have the most style denominations yet: There’s the budget-friendly minimalism, ranging anywhere from Uniqlo basics to Essentials loungewear. Techwear falls on the more expensive side simply due to its more unconventional design–featuring cyberpunk-inspired functionality & technical accessories. SLP borrows from European streetwear and punkish influences (think 2015 Harry Styles). Dystopiacore features more deconstructed, grungier and grittier patterns, earth tones, and cargo. These, along with the self-explanatory oversized, vintage, athleisure, and skatecore aesthetics, it’s evident just how many forms of “streetwear” there are.
At its core, streetwear’s aesthetic design is rooted in practicality–and since the streets are constantly changing, so are the styles that dominate it.
Fashion Forward
Now that we’ve hopped between timelines and cultures–looping around Europe, East Asia, and America–do you have a better idea of where you stand on the fashion spectrum?
If your answer’s still “no” (or, better yet, “how on earth do you expect me to remember all that?”), you’re not alone.
Fashion, one of the biggest outlets for humanity’s self-expression, is the most sensitive to socioeconomic change & political climates: From the clash of the old and nouveau riche in the East Coast to the rise of hip hop & skate culture in the West, the economic catalysts to Harajuku fashion, or the global pandemic that sent us grasping for the golden days of our own past, art will continue imitating life, and replicating itself.
In fact, Maximalism–although a style seen the least out of these umbrella terms–might be the most definitive of Gen Z’s attitudes towards fashion yet. Humanity’s intensive search for identity–after all, isn’t being “different” from everyone else the driving appeal behind Old Money’s exclusivity, the Y2K trend’s symbiotic relations to fast fashion, and hypebeasts’ desire to curate the rarest collection for themselves?
Personal style is self-affirming, and the main reason why Gen Z can try on aesthetics as easily as clothes. You don’t have to be a skater to dress like one, any more than you have to have aristocratic blood to don fake pearls and silk gloves for fun.
So try all the things you want (while being culturally sensitive, of course). We’re surging headfirst into an era of radical individuality–so seize your chance to create a style that is wholly, and truly, you!