When personal style feels more like performance than expression
Let’s get one thing straight—are you really cool, or are you just wearing microtrends?
If you’ve been on TikTok or Pinterest in the last year, chances are you’ve seen it all: “mob wife” glamour, “blokecore” jerseys, “coquette” bows, and “clean girl” beauty. The lifespan of trends now barely surpasses a scroll—spiking overnight, dying by the next cycle. Think Hailey Bieber’s glazed nails, latte makeup, tomato girl summer, strawberry makeup—remember those? Blink, and you miss them.
Yet while microtrends haven’t vanished entirely (butter yellow, ballerina flats, polka dots are having a moment), something has definitely shifted.
We’re no longer adopting entire aesthetics en masse. Instead, people are pausing, questioning: Does this actually suit my personal style? The death of the microtrend might be more of a transformation. It’s not about chasing the next thing—it’s about curating something that feels real.
But here’s the irony: in our collective quest to be more “authentic,” why does everyone still look the same?
You scroll past the same bag charm on everyone’s tote, the same pair of Adidas Sambas, the same Miu Miu glasses, and the same “it” color of the month. What we’re calling “personal style” often feels algorithm-generated, commodified, and carbon-copied.
We live in an era of reference culture, where nothing is new—everything is a nod. And yes, there’s something endearing about tapping into collective nostalgia. But let’s not ignore what’s lurking beneath: brands and corporations know exactly how to monetize that yearning.
The algorithm isn’t your friend—it’s your stylist. It tells you what to wear, how to pose, what your makeup should look like, and which niche subculture to cosplay this week. It creates micro-identities that fit neatly into marketing campaigns.
Originality, once organic and unfiltered, is now repackaged and sold back to us—complete with a “Shop Now” link.
Clothing has become a language of codes and cues, carefully constructed to suggest taste, awareness, and social fluency. Everyone’s trying to signal that they get it.
Take the Maison Margiela Tabi shoes, for instance. What began as an avant-garde, divisive silhouette has become a predictable marker of “fashion-girlie” credibility. They used to say, I know something you don’t. Now they say, I know exactly what you expect me to wear.
Once rebellious, now a checklist item. And this isn’t just about Tabis—it’s happening across the board.
But when everyone owns the same markers of “cool,” how original can it really be? Our idea of “personal style” often feels eerily synchronized—like we’ve all been assigned the same uniform and told to feel special in it.
We call it individuality, but it often feels like we’ve all downloaded the same character skin and added one slightly unique filter.
None of this is to say that microtrends are evil or that we’re doomed to be style clones. But we do need to ask ourselves: Are we dressing for expression, or for validation? Are we building a wardrobe that reflects us, or simply broadcasting our membership in the trend cycle?
It’s okay to love a viral item. It’s okay to be influenced. But maybe, just maybe, real style means opting out once in a while—not because the trend is over, but because it never felt like you to begin with.