As an avid social media user, I’ve started to notice the buffet of microtrends revolving around clothing aesthetics. The surge in popularity of these fashion niches has led to the depoliticization of once-meaningful subcultures and the rise of “performative” aesthetics.
Social media offers a menu of watered-down looks ready for public consumption. One example is the “performative” archetype, often associated with men who curate a specific appearance blending sensitivity, intellect, and cultural awareness to gain social validation.
The “performative” look is easy to spot: a gingham button-up shirt that’s never actually buttoned, wired headphones, and an iced matcha latte. You’ll also find accessories like blue-light glasses, a carefully chosen book featuring feminist literature or psychology, and a tote bag adorned with trinkets — maybe a small Labubu or Smitki keychain hanging from a carabiner — that symbolize consumerism culture more than authenticity.
Before the rise of today’s curated online personas, fashion carried a very different weight — one rooted in rebellion rather than recognition. In the ‘60s, countercultural movements used fashion to revolt against capitalism and social conformity. Rejecting societal norms, which modern fashion often conforms to, gave people a sense of community, with a prime example being the ‘70s goth and punk scene.
For many subcultures, fashion is not just self-expression — it’s identity and solidarity.
Yet, logging onto platforms like Instagram or TikTok today, my feed is flooded with conventionally attractive people sporting “goth” or “alternative” aesthetics. Many of them, with sharp black eyeliner and brand-new wardrobes, and showing off their latest PR packages from major fast-fashion companies.
Alongside the “performative” male archetype, the “performative poseur” aesthetic has emerged within alternative and goth circles — driven by the same hunger for social validation, just dressed differently.
As these styles gain mass appeal, their original ideologies fade beneath layers of marketing and consumerism.
Modern media suggests that listening to goth music is enough to identify as goth, while shopping from unethical brands completes the look. As subcultures become mainstream, they lose their original meaning and are depoliticized.
Nowhere is this contradiction more visible than in the fast-fashion industry, which profits from the very rebellion it pretends to embody.
Mainstream brands like Dolls Kill have long marketed “alternative” or “gothic” clothing while facing criticism from within the goth community. While the brand created an easy place for people to dress in the goth aesthetic, it has also received backlash over racist controversies and unethical practices. Fast fashion is an intrinsically toxic system; its mass production of cheap clothing harms both workers and the environment.
A famous example is Shein, known for pushing fast fashion to the extreme. The brand has faced allegations of child labor and worker exploitation. The “alternative” people shopping from these companies contradict the anti-capitalist values that subcultures like punk and goth were founded on, feeding into the very consumerist systems they once rejected.
The mainstreaming of fast fashion has seeped into the alternative culture, fueling a new wave of “alternative” businesses that prioritize profit over principle.
This commodification isn’t new — it’s been decades in the making. In the ‘90s, corporations started to take note of the popularity of alternative culture amongst younger audiences, and introduced a new wave of stores like the infamous Hot Topic. For newcomers seeking to join the scene, these brands often appear first in the search engine, tying themselves to the “performative” version of alternative fashion.
Before the rise of online shopping, buying a band’s apparel meant attending a concert and connecting deeply with the community. Now, bands like Korn and Slipknot — following the path of Nirvana — are commercialized through mass-produced hoodies and tees at fast-fashion stores such as H&M.
Grunge, perhaps, is the perfect example of how easily rebellion can be repackaged and resold.
As alternative fashion became prevalent in the media, its radicalized message was watered down. Grunge — a once social and artistic movement — has become a TikTok trend. Starting in the late ‘80s and popularized by the early ‘90s by bands like Nirvana, grunge fused hardcore punk and heavy metal. Its look was simple: worn-out jeans, thrifted band tees, and flannels, rejecting the consumerism and glamour of ‘80s rock. But after “Nevermind” (1991) by Nirvana reached No. 1on the Billboard charts, everyone wanted a taste of grunge, including Runway.
Just as the media picked up on punk and goth, so did high fashion. Studded jackets and safety pins migrated from underground venues to runways, stripping away the authenticity and rebellion those symbols once carried. And not in a “squatting on runways” way. With the introduction of subcultures to the runway, they become a fashion commodity, losing the alluring ideologies tied to the fashion.
Once the aesthetics were taken off the streets and absorbed by fast fashion, they became exactly what they once opposed — “hip consumerism.” Alternative fashion traditionally rejects conformity, capitalism, and mass consumption, yet fast fashion embodies all three.
Shopping is always political. Every purchase reinforces someone’s power. When niche subcultures are popularized, their core beliefs are stripped away, leaving only the aesthetic. Scenes once rooted in creativity, ethics, protest, and music are transformed into capitalist traps — fake personalities built for likes and profit rather than authentic expression.
