Capris and Consumer Culture 

Let’s talk capris. In 1948, German designer Sonja de Lennart invented them. Throughout the late fifties and early sixties, they were seen on Hollywood’s biggest stars from Audrey Hepburn to Marilyn Monroe. The style resurfaced in the late nineties and early two-thousands, evolving from their original design to fitted denim and baggy cargos. 

Not long after, sporting a pair of capris became quite passé. I recall getting funny looks and judgy comments when I — a true wearer of the garment — wore them in their “off season.” 

Just last year, I went to the mall to buy a new pair. Store after store, I left disappointed. Sales associates met me with confused looks: “What are those?” I was dumbfounded. Imagine my surprise when, a mere twelve months later, these pants were “back in style” and, quite literally, seen everywhere I went. 

As the years go on, our trends stretch further back — in an attempt to reclaim something lost decades before. This is by no means a profound discovery or recent phenomenon — for generations, earlier styles have influenced current fashion trends. They come, they go, and they come again. And society accepts it. Accepts the fact that what was so-not-cool yesterday (but super cool twenty years ago) is all of a sudden cool again tomorrow. 

“Core-culture” — Gen-Z’s hyper-fixation with categorization — has simultaneously disrupted and intensified the flow of fashion trends. Everybody is obsessed with capturing a vibe, a distinct niche, an “aesthetic.” As I scroll through my phone, I feel like I’m watching a series of identity crises. What will it be: “clean girl,” “office siren,” “coquette,” “granola,” or “coastal granddaughter?” 

These rigid categories limit both the garment itself and its wearer. It’s a tricky situation. In the past, you could experiment with different looks until you found a personal style. Nowadays, it seems to be less about experimentation, and more about shifting aesthetics when the algorithm tells you it’s time to. It’s not about finding what you like, but complying with what social media tells you to like — until a few weeks pass and the next thing comes around (or back around). 

Everything about fashion trends today is fast: fast to arrive, fast to produce, and fast to go. The never-ending demand for clothing results in extensive textile pollution from fast-fashion corporations. My trips to local thrift shops have become increasingly gruelling as I shovel through heaps of cheap fabric with a Shein logo practically tearing at the seams — so graciously donated by people who bought them only to wear them once. 

In today’s excessively digital age, I can’t help but feel this desire to dabble in older styles has something to do with wanting to hold onto the customs that came with them. The simplicity of life pre-internet boom. 

But what happens when this very notion of lifestyle itself becomes a mere trend to be followed? What happens when the items intended to “stop the scrolling” (i.e., flip phones, DVD players, digital cameras) only intensify them? It’s not enough to enjoy these things in private; we need to make a post about them to show (or prove) to others that we’re different. We’re obsessed with our image, the curation of our feeds; therefore, we’re constantly performing — performing aesthetics, performing vintage, etc. Or maybe it’s not that deep at all — maybe it’s just another feature of the consumption-driven society we so easily abide by.