Category Culture
Published October 2, 2025
Woman Lying on her Back, by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
I would like to begin by graciously bowing our heads and observing a moment of silence for all the baddies we lost to the reign of the clean girl aesthetic. Our hearts are heavy with grief. But fret not, there is still a beacon of hope for us all.
I’ve always genuinely admired women for whom being calm, composed, and “clean” comes naturally. The chosen ones who can wear white and not spill. I, on the other hand, stained my new beige Acne Studios skirt within two business hours. With ketchup. Eating greasy fries. It took three rounds of dry cleaning to resurrect her. She survived. Can’t say the same for my dignity.
I confess — I was complicit. I tried so hard (cue Linkin Park lol) to be neat, minimalist, palatable. To not be messy. I studied every Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy fit like scripture, curated “quiet luxury” Pinterest boards (oh God), and let TikTok bully me into believing that “less is more” until it was formed into seriously strong neural pathways. But here’s the thing: sometimes less is just… less.
As per usual — let’s unpack this.
First, let’s try to understand how we even got here. I remember it was somewhere around the pandemic when the #beigeblogger hashtag started gaining its deadly momentum. Was it an aesthetic collective trauma response to the stress of living through a historical event? A subconscious craving for calm while the world was burning? Who knows. We can theorise all day long.
Kim Kardashian's California estate. Image courtesy: architecturaldigest.com
But suddenly our feeds were flooded with hyper-polished profiles: beige outfits, beige walls, beige smoothies. It looked… alluring. Curated. Peaceful, even. Then came the reign of “old money” and “quiet luxury” trends (thanks for that, Emily Oberg). And just like that (sorry), Kim Kardashian’s beige mausoleum of a mansion became the ultimate aspiration on our Pinterest mood boards. Yes — the same Kim Kardashian who once lived in major leopard print excess.
And thus, the Clean Girl was born — the umbrella archetype for all of the internet’s enchanted curation. She whispered that if we muted the world around us, scrubbed every surface, got that TikTok glass skin, wore 50 shades of nude from nails to lips, and mastered composure — we’d finally be that girl. And we believed her. Of course we did. Because nothing is more seductive than the illusion of control. If your bun is sleek enough, maybe your life is too.
And may I just say — I am convinced that 10 out of 10 of the internet’s cleanest girls slummed, are slumming and will slum it real hard when they hit that luteal phase. But, like, in secret. My point is — minimalism itself isn’t evil. But when an aesthetic mutates into a collective personality disorder — which it did — that’s where the problem begins.
Charli XCX for Billboard. Image courtesy: billboard.com
The more I exist in this weird realm, the more I realize we indeed live on a polarity planet. Because if you remember the Y2K era with its bedazzled phones, Victoria’s Secret angles, heroin chic and the indie sleaze era that followed, it only makes sense that the pendulum swung in the direction of toxic minimalism. And we have to collectively express gratitude to the patroness-not-so-saint of the “fuck it” energy — Charli XCX for swinging it back. Because enough is enough.
“Brat” was not just a fun dance album — it was a collective exhale. A cultural reset we didn’t know we needed. The clean girl era was an interesting experiment, but the results are in: we’re exhausted. It’s enough pressure living in a world where we women are chronically underpaid, undervalued and reduced to how we look. Now we have to worry about a ketchup stain after eating fries that literally held our nervous systems together? No thanks. We want chipped nail polish, loud belly laughs, sweaty dance parties and eyeliner that won’t come off in the morning. We want to cry and scream into the void. And if the world tells us we are “too much” why don’t we all tell it to go find less?
Addison Rae for CR Fashion Book. Image courtesy: crfashionbook.com
Yes, of course there are women who were never going to contort for the “clean girl” agenda — Gaga, FKA Twigs, Rihanna, Lana, Cardi. Untouchable. But we all know that the true marker of the current quality of time is the current It-girls — the ones fashion and pop culture crown as the moment. And isn’t it interesting that right now they are deliciously rock’n’roll?
Gabbriette is out here serving goth muse energy, tattoos, dark under eye circles, unapologetically claiming: “I don’t use concealer. I like to look tired.” Alex Consani could publish every chaotic phrase she’s ever blurted out into a scripture called The Sass Bible — and I would pray to it nightly.
Julia Fox’s Down the Drain is still gutting me in real time (more memoirs like this, please). Addison Rae is blessing us with the holy gift of perfect “imperfection” — cellulite, curves, direct quote from Diet Pepsi: “body’s a work of art you’d die to see.” In a world still plagued by FaceTune, if that’s not rebellion, I don’t know what is.
Then there’s Isamaya Ffrench — alt baddie supreme — painting the fashion week circuit with some seriously feral makeup looks we’ve seen. The new muses aren’t smoothing their edges, they’re sharpening them. They’re giving us permission to be real, raw, human. Smudged lipstick, ketchup stains and all.
Speaking of fashion month unfolding before our overstimulated eyes — have you noticed that the brands making the loudest noise are anything but “clean”? Dilara Findikoglu shattered us with her “bittersweet” dress — literally stained with dripping sour cherries — a piece that broke our hearts and our feeds. Yelling at us that it’s time to finally break out of that “Cage of Innocence” and just… dress our mess. In a very sensual way at that.
Julia Fox as a face of Isamaya Beauty. Image courtesy: vogue.co.uk
And by the way — I don’t remember a campaign detonating the internet quite like Gentle Monster’s rave extravaganza with Tilda Swinton. The breakeress of conventions herself looked us dead in the eye and commanded: “Be bold. Stay weird.” Okay, Tilda. Say less. I obey.
The moral of the story — the pendulum will always keep swinging — from glitter to beige, from sleaze to sterile. But maybe it’s time we stop chasing extremes and just… be human? Because girlhood is a spectrum. One day you’re composed and serene, the next you’re plotting your ex’s fictional death with a side of fries. We need space for both.
So if your vibe is beige walls, glass skin, and never saying “fuck” — go do.
And me? My Acne Studios skirt may be beige, but it’s paired with a crazy Gaultier top, patent Nodaleto boots, and, most importantly, baptised by ketchup.
Let me mess in peace.
Amen.
