Not Everything Needs to Be a Movement

Moving to a cottage, dressing in a full lace costume, or wearing a Chanel bag will not bring about your salvation.

Porphyry Avis writes from Budapest, Hungary.

My recent hobby has been overhauling my friends’ (and my colleagues and relations) dressing styles according to TikTok fashion trends. To a strong-willed friend, I suggested that they adopt the “mob wife aesthetic” (faux fur coats, statement jewelry, red lipstick); to a daydreaming romantic colleague, I insisted that they master the “cottagecore” trend (linen dresses, corsets and braided hairstyle) and following an emergency intervention, my boyfriend now obliviously blends different elements of the “eclectic grandpa” and “old money” styles.

As much as I find this game of matching people’s personalities with different styles entertaining (to the extent of renaming every situation, feeling or event based on a TikTok trend), I’ve also been thinking about the underlying reasons for this new online phenomenon. Expressing our belonging to a particular social class, profession, or a religious order by the way we dress is as old as society.

There is no reason to deny our natural instinct to seek security via membership of a smaller community, and to try to distinguish ourselves from other groups we don’t belong to. Moreover, fashion trends have always been present in the life of the upper classes — think of the Ancient Greeks or 18th century France (Marie Antoinette even appointed a “Minister of Fashion” to design the three hundred gowns she required a year).

So, what if anything makes social media trends different?

One of the factors distinguishing today’s trends from those of the previous centuries is that they are not mere expressions of a certain social association, but ways of self-definition. Due to the slow disappearance of most formal distinctions between social classes in Western societies and the spread of a liberal lifestyle, experimenting with different styles, costumes, and uniforms has never been so easy.

With few exceptions, the CEO of a company of course cannot rock the “opiumcore” trend (black leather jackets, tight lace t-shirts, and cargo trousers) in the office. In their free time however, nothing holds them back from dressing as a rapper from the nineties, a Flemish milkmaid, or the offspring of a noble dynasty. In other words, they can be top managers during the day and whatever else they want in the evening or on weekends. It feels like a permanent masquerade which anyone can join, regardless of their age, profession, education, or financial situation.

The self-definition element is accentuated by the fact that these trends are usually labelled and come as a package. We are not only talking about fringes, linen trousers or tennis skirts, but of “old money look,” “tomato-girl aesthetic,” or “coastal auntie style” where the accompanying accessories, such as books, baskets, or a cigar are indispensable elements of the composition.

Similarly to the baroque altars where saints were always depicted with their “attributes” (attributum) — a sword, a bunch of roses, or a loaf of bread — so that the faithful could easily identify them. It seems that despite all the efforts of the 20th century to liberate ourselves from any form of social attachment, and to blur the lines among all previously existing groups of society, there is still a strong need to keep these dividing lines clearly drawn. Moreover, it seems that at least a part of younger generations are invested in spectacularly showcasing their belonging to different groups of society — be it geographical, financial, or something else — that they naturally don’t belong to.

These trends connect to another interesting phenomenon that recently got a lot of attention on social media. The so-called “tradwife” movement started as an antidote to the emancipated, career-oriented single woman who seems to have been the ideal of the last two to three decades.

Tradwives usually live religious lives of bucolic simplicity in beautiful rural cottages, home school their children, and are most likely to be observed baking, sewing, and preparing for the return of their (strappingly masculine) husbands. It is also usual among tradwives to own a busy Instagram account, through which they launch their own line of homemade pies, cookbooks or aprons, and offer styling tips to their followers, which typically number in the millions.

This all sounds innocent enough. What recently put the spotlight on this movement were a few not so flattering details that seem to be lurking in the darkness behind the shiny kitchen utensils and perfectly tied bows of these women.

The life of Lauren Southern, a Canadian right-wing commentator, apparently turned into a nightmare after marrying an Australian businessman and becoming a proud tradwife. Southern ended up living in a cabin in the Canadian woods with her young son as her oh so masculine husband left her after a campaign of harassment and setting unrealistic expectations at home.

Another important tradwife figure, Hannah Neeleman, saw her interview with the Times go viral after she revealed that giving up her career as a ballerina (she went to Juilliard, one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in the world) to become a tradwife had broken her heart. Some also say it is at least controversial that while she and her husband promote starting life from scratch, Daniel Neeleman is the son of the founder of five commercial airlines and their vintage stove alone costs $30,000 — which most American households probably couldn’t afford.

It is of course entirely possible that not every stay-at-home wife has astounding secrets, nor suffers domestic abuse. These cases illustrate a strange cycle that we have been witnessing increasingly since social media platforms have been widely used. It starts with a growing hype around a lifestyle, a profession (phenomenon) often as an antithesis of a previous movement. It then becomes endowed with an entire culture around it, from clothing through eating habits to the intonation of one’s voice.

Then something happens — a public confession, a revealing interview, a financial scandal — and the movement suddenly becomes obsolete, being supplanted by a new one. It is as if the internet has to discover over and over again that simply choosing to make your own yoghurt, moving to a cottage, dressing in a full lace costume, or wearing a Chanel bag will not bring salvation in itself. (Although, to be fair, owning a Chanel bag might).

There is nothing wrong with expressing one’s taste or social affiliations through how they dress and accessorize. There is also nothing wrong with choosing to stay at home as a wife, even if it means artificially labelling this “traditional.” Yet, creating pre-packaged identities and movements around simple life decisions or fashion taste with the false promise of bringing eternal happiness is simply misleading. Religiously following these movements might eventually disappoint, as none of these will shield against the unexpected situations life can eventually bring.

It doesn’t mean that all social media trends are evil. They can be entertaining, even inspiring. We just have to make sure we take them for what they are: a snapshot of the current state of contemporary society, which changes like the wind.

I will therefore keep indulging in my new favorite hobby and give (often unsolicited) advice to my friends on their clothing. If any of them seeks to go beyond trying a new hairstyle or growing their own sourdough and fully adopt an entire movement, my recommendation will most likely be to return to “normiecore.”

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