What’s Really Behind TikTok’s “Weird Girl Aesthetic”

Last month, creator @kaiageber chronicled in a Twitter thread a new aesthetic emerging in street style: the “weird” girl. Using photos of influencers and model Bella Hadid, the thread explored how mismatched accessories, mini skirts, fluffy details, knitted pieces, and clashing textures became the It-look of the season, seemingly throwing all the arbitrary fashion rules out the window. “Is it anti-fashion? Are people trying too hard just to look ugly?” the creator asked. 

the weird girl aesthetic. is it anti-fashion? are people trying too hard just to look ugly? does it only work on bella hadid? let’s discuss pic.twitter.com/lRZZJ0JoAK

— ً (@KAlAGEBER) May 7, 2022

The phenomenon certainly embodies the state of fashion trends right now: an accelerated trend cycle led by ’90s and early 2000s styles on TikTok, where trying on core aesthetics — from cottagecore and fetishcore to clowncore and angelcore — is another way of playing dress-up. The difference? The “weird” girl seems to be trying them all at once. Think: Rainbow knitted beanies with oversized bomber jackets, knee-high socks, and the aforementioned micro mini skirts; or baby tees, paired with plaid skirts, leopard print bag, bow clips, and a beaded choker necklace. By June, the trend had grown to over 145 million views on TikTok, with fashion creators like @glitterpenperspective and Alyssa Mosley (@alyssamosley) breaking down its current popularity. 

But while the trend seems to be booming now, its roots are also a product of the Y2K era. The “weird girl” aesthetic is influenced by Harajuku fashion, a style that mixes a wide set of sub-cultures within Japanese fashion that is known for its hyperfeminine aesthetic and was cemented in global pop culture thanks to publications like Fruits — a late ’90s street style magazine — back in the early 2000s. In its current form, it’s also tied to the recent rise of Heaven by Marc Jacobs, a youth brand launched in 2020 that embodies the grunge maximalism that earned the designer a name in the 90s, capitalizing on the nostalgia that’s made a new generation unearth these styles online and IRL. Take, for example, the brand’s spray painted baby tees, chunky platform boots, tulle skirts, pacifier-shaped earrings, and psychedelic graphics on everything from hoodies to sweaters and crop tops. It’s “schoolgirl” meets “rave kid.” 

Yet the elements of this current trend go beyond Harajuku style, though. While the trend does embody the contrasting and fantasy-like nature of this Japanese style (which given the 20-year fashion cycle was bound to come back soon), it also derives from the reality we’ve lived over the past two years, thanks to the pandemic, and the fashion items we’ve used to cope. Think about it: Thrifting and vintage shopping have become the go-to sources of fashion, while knitting crochet tops, hats, and jackets are popular pastimes. Tie dye, a signature psychedelic print of the ’90s and early 2000s, made a triumphant comeback as many were bored during lockdown, managing their anxiety by hand-dyeing T-shirts at home. Fantasy fashion has also grown during this time, with brands like Selkie, Teuta Matoshi, and Lirika Matoshi offering dresses fit for a Disney princess (and people actually like one in their everyday lives). Victorian fashion, cottagecore, fetishcore… One aesthetic after the other promising the key to cope with a messed-up world. 

@tinyjewishgirl

from IG: megbeckstudio and the dress is from the store dana foley in the lower east side!!! This is my fave color palette

♬ original sound – clara

The trend is also influenced by a return to maximalism in fashion, following years of low-key leisurewear and neutrals. “I think that maximalism is something that absolutely found its base online in what people wore during Covid,” says Alexandra Hildredth, a TikTok fashion creator who goes by @guyfieri.superfan on the app. She points to TikTok creators like @tinyjewishgirl, who has over 800,000 followers, becoming increasingly popular for their maximalist, anything-goes approach to fashion, pairing a butterfly-shaped bag with a plaid skirt, a pink corset with a beach-ready orange maxi skirt, or a knit crop top with a horse-print silk midi skirt. “I definitely don’t think that that [the weird girl aesthetic] could have arisen without those creators […] really paving the way in maximalism because there is a logic towards the weird girl style.”

@alyssamosley_ Make sure to follow my Instagram for more content! @ccellophanee ♥️ #marcjacobsheaven ♬ original sound – alyssa mosley

But what exactly is “weird” about contrasting styles meshed together in one outfit? “I think it’s people who are not used to seeing these styles from actual subcultures who have been wearing it for years who gave it the name,” says Mosley. “Because they had never been around people that dress that way.” Some creators are also pointing out that the name ignores the trend’s roots and casts its wearers in a derogatory way. TikTok creator @glitterpenperspective said in a recent video that calling the trend “anti-fashion” because of its wear-all-at-once nature was wrong because “it’s fashion history,” referring to how Harajuku fashion paved the way for this phenomenon. Mosley also saw a wave of people upset over the name “weird girl aesthetic” in the comment section of her explainer video, and she agrees the name lacks the historical and social weight behind this trend. “Maybe it’s Fruits’ Girl Aesthetic,” she says. 

After two years of an accelerated trend cycle that brews one aesthetic after the other with no end in sight, the “weird” girl emerges: She wears her cottagecore corset with her tie-dye skirt, accessorized with the Y2K-ready platform thong sandals and Minnie Mouse-branded shoulder bag, along with one too many acrylic rings and rhinestone hair pins, because she’s realized that arbitrary fashion rules have no place in our current world. If she’s “weird,” we all are, too.

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How Richie Shazam’s “Chosen Family” Helped Her Embrace Her Most Authentic Self

They say blood is thicker than water, but for those in the queer community, the definition of family stretches far beyond something you’re born into. When you’re struggling to find acceptance or feel a sense of belonging, creating a support system or “family” of your own — one where you can be intentional about who you choose to be a part of it — is where real self-discovery and healing can begin.

This holds true for Richie Shazam, the non-binary creative multi-hyphenate who shared her story for H&M’s My Chosen Family campaign. For her, chosen family has played a pivotal role in helping her come into her own, acting as her ride-or-die support system as she faced a lack of acceptance, navigated discovering her true identity, and forged a career path that spans multiple industries.

“Chosen family is the people you choose, and the people that choose you,” she explains. “They’re seeing your rawness and vulnerability, and they’re working to help give you space to exist.”

It’s a special closeness, a deep loyalty, and a mutual understanding of the queer experience that sets these relationships apart from close friends and romantic partners. For decades, the term “chosen family” has been used to define bonds within the queer community, which was initially considered a lifeline. “Back in the ’80s and ’90s — during the historical, groundbreaking formation of queer identity — chosen family was really about survival for people that didn’t have [blood] families that accepted them,” says Shazam. “They found the people that could be their surrogate families and take care of them.”

These relationships are just as important in 2022, as LGBTQ+ folks navigate oppressive and restrictive legislation and policies, along with the hate crimes that plague the community. In a country where “Don’t Say Gay” — the bill that restricts some public schools from teaching students about sexual orientation and gender identity — exists, parents who support their trans children are threatened with investigations, and murders of transgender people, particularly those of marginalized communities, are at an all-time high, these strong support systems are what lift one another up to continue pushing forward.

For Shazam, it begins with an instinctual bond between like-minded people. Growing up in New York City, a place with thriving queer and creative communities, she found a sense of belonging outside of her unsupportive household by mingling in the spaces she’d find people with similar experiences and interests. When her family’s opposition forced her to find support elsewhere, she was able to make those important connections to others, eventually meeting her “best-friend-slash-soul-sister” Briana Andalore and her partner Ben Draghi, who star alongside her in this campaign.

“I feel very fortunate that we found each other and built on our relationships,” she says. “As humans, we’re always evolving and changing. Identity isn’t fixed; it’s constantly transforming, so finding people who are there for all of these ebbs and flows and are down to be on that journey with you and see you for who you are is so powerful. They taught me to own the authentic individual I’ve always been and really feel it from within.”

Shazam’s family comprises equally accomplished creatives who support one another, both personally and professionally (she’s collaborated with Draghi on video projects, and she often calls on Andalore to style her, including for this campaign). And she can count on them to be there for every milestone in her career, whether that’s modeling, photography, or her upcoming foray into film.

While she credits them for teaching her invaluable lessons of self-discovery and self-acceptance, they’ve also helped her traverse her darkest moments — like being rejected by her religious Guyanese family. After she left home, they were the ones to house her, give her the clothes off their backs, and feed her when she couldn’t feed herself — “You know, very real, raw things that I couldn’t ask my [blood] family for because that door had been closed. They picked me up in my most vulnerable state.”

Shazam knows she’s been fortunate in finding her people, which is why she urges queer, trans, and non-binary folks to take advantage of social media to connect with and cultivate families of their own. “For younger people coming up, it’s a lot easier to find your communities in your town or city or elsewhere thanks to technology,” she says. “There are so many powerful queer spaces and queer sanctuaries in cities across America and around the world that one can find — it’s a lot more accessible than it once was.”

Also more accessible is the help necessary to navigate the many hardships they may face, thanks to organizations like The Trevor Project. For the third year, H&M is helping fund its crisis intervention and suicide prevention resources and services to provide year-round support to LGBTQ+ teens and young adults. From June 15 through June 17, they’ll be matching all donations made on Trevor Project’s website up to $150,000.

But it’s important to remember that family is not one-size-fits-all, Shazam says, and only you can define what it means to you. Chosen family should include the people you can both laugh and cry with, who will lift you up no matter what, and, most of all, help you step into your truest self: “They should embrace all those beautiful facets of yourself that you may be scared to project onto the world, and teach you not to be scared to take up space and speak from your chest and your heart,” says Shazam. “That’s been a common thread amongst my family — and I strive to teach others the same thing.”

To hear more stories of chosen families from around the world, check out H&M’s global My Chosen Family campaign here.

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