Are you “that girl?” Or perhaps you’re a rockstar girlfriend? Maybe cottagecore is more your speed, or even dark academia. You set yourself apart with your aesthetic– a visual theme supported by the clothes you wear, the makeup you apply, and the persona you project. Now, more than ever, the idea of an aesthetic has become inescapable. Open TikTok, scroll for a few minutes, and your For You Page will be inundated with the newest look and the hottest trends—along with the links to buy the current must-have products. And while we may scoff at “eclectic grandpa” and “mob boss wife” for being shallow and ridiculous, they are simply the latest in a long line of labels we have embraced in our quest for identity and belonging. 

Aesthetics appear to have begun as a means of fostering community, a noble pursuit by itself. It functions as any other form of nonverbal communication, making connections with like-minded individuals who share common interests and passions. In ancestral settings, the formation of cohesive social groups was vital for survival, and this is an instinct we have carried forward into modern times. Today, however, rampant consumerism has also seeped in– with the right belongings and look, you have an in to socially desirable groups. At first, individuality and community may seem to juxtapose each other, but when combined in the 21st century, they are a dangerous mix. 

The constant cycle of trend creation and swift death supposedly keeps TikTok fresh and exciting, with new aesthetics and trends emerging left and right to capture the attention of the label-obsessed masses. However, this constant need for novelty and reinvention is not liberating, but imprisoning. It traps you in a never-ending cycle of self-creation, where you are nothing more than the sum of your aesthetic parts. You are defined by your appearance, your belongings, and your online presence—stripped of any depth or complexity. If any one of these are deemed lacking, well, you should expect and wholly deserve a barrage of insults hurled your way—“post this on Instagram Reels,” goes the common taunt, a place where deviation from these arbitrary standards supposedly invites even more scorn. You are a walking, talking slice of your Pinterest boards, constantly evolving to stay ahead of the trend curve. And as much as you may hate to admit it, you need the validation of internet strangers to feel like you’re being ‘you’ the correct way.

Such is because we live in a world of mass-produced individuality. The very foundations of our identities are built on the things we consume. The urge to set oneself apart from the rest, to be unique, is undeniably human, but when money is God, our individuality is corrupted and commodified. We find ourselves trapped in this cycle of self-definition, constantly searching for the perfect aesthetics and labels to call our own, while simultaneously rebelling against the idea of conformity. Trend cycles are quick and relentless– once they pass over, we are empty once again. Like fast food, microtrends are satisfying, not satiating. We crave them because they give us the illusion of individuality, but in actuality, they are spoon-fed to the masses. When our identities are built upon our outward appearances and the latest trends, we fail to look inward and ask the important question: who am I, really? Self-expression should be built from the inside out, but more often than not, we believe we know someone at first glance, based solely upon their appearance. 

TikTok also promotes a very narrow picture of womanhood, exemplified in labels like “clean girl,” to which consumption is a necessary precursor. Ironically, being a “clean girl” is supposedly about minimalism and decluttering, but is inevitably filled with products to use and, perhaps more importantly, show off. Such tension creates a culture of competition among women where whoever can manage their lives best or perform the most ‘healthy’ routines is the most successful. As one “clean girl” explains, “It’s not only about looking clean or like you’re wearing less makeup … you want to have a cleaner house and go to the gym every day and be a perfect partner and friend.” This desire for perfection in all aspects of life, coupled with the belief that a woman’s success is contingent on her ability to maintain a presentably-immaculate body and appearance, places a disproportionate burden on women masquerading as self-empowerment. 

The “clean girl” aesthetic feeds off of women’s self-loathing, promising liberation through the commodification of self-care. It is a marker of moral and physical superiority as it implies that a certain subsect of women have achieved a state of purity and self-control that sets them apart from those who do not adhere to such rigorous standards, or cannot afford such high levels of consumption. However, this idealization also comes with its own set of pressures and anxieties. Women who align with the “clean girl” aesthetic must constantly monitor their bodies and surroundings for perceived messiness, fearing that any lapse in their regimen will render them ‘unclean’ and thus unworthy of societal approval.

Furthermore, this aesthetic tends to neglect women of color and sideline its origins in Black and Brown communities, shutting out the very women who pioneered its characteristic elements like gold hoop earrings and slicked-back hair. As Oni Chaytor observes in her article, “[TikTok] and Cultural Appropriation: The Clean Girl Aesthetic and its [Roots] in Black and Brown Communities”, for American University’s The Blackprint, “[These trends] … will only be deemed ‘acceptable’ and ‘cute’ when a white woman participates in the culture and claims it as her own … Black and Brown women have been criticized and called “ghetto” and “dirty” for the same aesthetic white women are praised for.” She cites the “hot Cheeto girl” aesthetic, popularized in 2019, as a prime example of this phenomenon, which has typically been employed to ridicule high school girls who exhibit hyper-femininity, come from working-class backgrounds, and are Black and/or Latina. Throughout history and still today, we are constantly reinforcing the idea that white women are the standard-bearers of cleanliness and self-care. 

While the trend cycle has arguably led to a decline in the authenticity of our individuality and self-expression, it has also become part of something else—climate change. In economically powerful countries, overconsumption has become a part of daily life, and the burden it is putting on the earth is unsustainable. It is often said that there is no point in trying to combat the effects of climate change by making personal life changes; the impact of individuals on carbon emissions is dwarfed by the contributions of large corporations. To a large extent, this is true – data from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change indicates that 70% of emissions can be traced back to just 100 corporations. As easy as it is to write off personal responsibility with these statistics, we implore you to do the opposite. Personal choices still play a role, and it’s disingenuous to say that the decision to overconsume is justified by the fact that others may be doing more harm. Afterall, individual overconsumption just serves as an enabler for corporations to produce as much as possible. 

Breaking free from this compartmentalization is hard to say the least, especially when you’re constantly bombarded with images of what it means to be beautiful, cool, desirable. Because these trends primarily revolve around what we put on ourselves, we can start there. Being an individual is not about what we wear or the gloss on our lips, but what we put out into the world. Buying second-hand clothing– and not just for the ‘vintage’ aesthetic– not only saves you money but keeps clothes out of landfills. Repairing damaged clothing instead of tossing them reduces waste and extends their lifespan. Opt for ethically-produced products whenever possible. You don’t need that TikTok Shop vintage 2000s dress to be cool. You are not mass-produced.