The 2010s feel like one big fever dream set to the tunes of Kesha, One Direction and the Glee Cast. My childhood was defined by flipping through copies of J-14 and Tiger Beat, my OG Deuxmoi, serving as style guides in a world before influencers. Now, the 2010s are making a comeback. The “Hunger Games” franchise is back. The 1975 is on tour. Robert Pattinson and Suki Waterhouse are in the news with pregnancy rumors. Pop culture has made its rounds, but it’s not alone.
When I reminisce about 2010s fashion, a shiver runs down my spine. I recall the various eras of my personal style, from the pairing of fringed jean shorts with combat boots (a topic my friends still bring up to this day) to the standout bright pink Bebe bandage dress, worn at multiple friends’ Bat Mitzvahs. The 2010s posed a real challenge for my fashion choices, and, of course, those moments are forever memorialized on my mom’s Facebook.
One of my favorite looks from that time was a black and white chevron jumpsuit. This fashion choice took center stage at the end of fifth grade in 2014. As elementary school graduation approached, so did a wave of pool parties. Unfortunately, it was the hot tub at my friend Caroline’s house that turned into a super-spreader for the skin infection, Impetigo. I ended up with it all over my legs, leading to the introduction of the jumpsuit. Despite being a subject of fifth grade fashion controversy, the jumpsuit became my power statement, a departure from the typical dress. The night I wore it, coincidentally the fifth grade dance, also marked the first occasion I was allowed to wear mascara.
The day a ballet flat graced my Pinterest feed this summer, I knew the renaissance had begun. I was immediately transported to a time when cat face flats made famous by Taylor Swift were all the rage. We have traded the sparkles for an understated burgundy. It-girl Sofia Richie Grainge was seen embracing the trend during New York Fashion Week. Shoes have become a means for Instagram posts, bringing me right back to Zendaya’s 2013 feed. The ballet flat, in its current renaissance, not only adds a touch of grace to fashion, but weaves a thread connecting us with the iconic styles of those before us.
The revival of indie sleaze felt personal. I was beyond jealous of teenagers in 2014. I was obsessed with Tumblr with an affinity for Alexa Chung and Vampire Weekend. Images of the effortlessly cool donning messy hair and dark eye makeup were embedded into my prepubescent brain. Indie sleaze’s aesthetic emerged in the early 2000s as a response to the recession. It was grungy, vintage and rebellious. Fast forward to today, and the echoes of indie sleaze persist. The movement’s influence can be spotted in the rise of sustainable fashion, where thrifted and vintage pieces take center stage. Meanwhile, Instagram feeds are adorned with digital camera pictures, reminiscent of the early social media era (shoutout to my trusty blue Nixon from 2011, the unsung hero of my aesthetic). The indie sleaze revival wasn’t just a fleeting trend; it laid the groundwork for a lasting impact on self-expression that we continue to see today.
The Ugg Tasman is possibly on the holiday shopping list of every person I know. All I ever wanted when I was younger was a pair of Bailey Bows Uggs – so coveted and coquette. Messages were often written in these Uggs in elementary school gym class, traced into the suede. Now known as TikTok-viral shoes, the Tasman slippers can be paired with anything and provide warmth for the winter. During IU’s fall break, I was on the hunt for a pair and managed to get my hands on them at a Foot Locker in New Jersey. It felt like a nostalgic reunion.
It is fun to see the new ways in which older trends can be used. As consumers, we are constantly evolving the ways in which we interpret trends. Fashion is a constant cycle, and the 2010s style has made its way in. I believe the re-emergence of 2010s fashion is great, in moderation. I stand with (updated) statement necklaces and would proudly rock a feather in my hair, if need be, but if you throw a pair of ripped skinny jeans my way, I’m out.