It’s safe to say that Y2K fashion is officially “A Thing.” The late ‘90s pop and cyber aesthetic that invaded our TikTok and Instagram feeds this year is now showing up in our closets. Need proof? Items like furry bucket hats, gold chain anklets, clawed hair clips, and literally anything covered in daisies are seriously trending on Amazon with no signs of backing down. In fact, the majority of the retailer’s most sought-after fashion products, as of August 2021, fall under the Y2K era vintage-inspired category. (As an elder millennial, I never thought I’d label the Y2K aesthetic as “vintage” but here we are.)
Since Amazon can be an overwhelming place to be, we sourced 18 of the best Y2K fashion items for your add-to-cart experience. These clothing items and accessories have not only spiraled into viral territory, but they also come highly reviewed by customers like you. Every product ahead has a rating of four stars or higher, and we’ve got a whole gamut of goods. From classic gold hoop earrings that 27,052 folks have rated, to a flamin’-hot baggy sweater that Guy Fieri would approve of, to solidly normcore New Balance dad sneakers, it's enough to make your 2000s dreams come true. Click through for a trip back into time — we swear the Y2K picks of 2021 are far chicer than they used to be 20 years ago.
At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. All product details reflect the price and availability at the time of publication. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Though the crowds that once lined up outside of shows during Copenhagen Fashion Week are noticeably smaller than pre-pandemic times, their unmatched sense of style hasn’t faltered. If anything, attendees at this season’s three-day-long Scandi-style event have actually turned up their fashion game since February’s round of shows, appearing in Denmark’s capital city on Monday in a bevy of tailored looks worth saving to your back-to-work smorgasbord.
For the first few presentations of the spring ‘22 season, editors and influencers alike dressed for our impending return to the office (but with a twist!), pairing fitted waistcoats, slouchy trousers, and oversized blazers with transgressive NSFW additions. Think: cut-out crop tops, leather mini shorts, and sunglasses with technicolor lenses.
And it’s only day one. With shows by Ganni, Rodebjer, Baum Und Pferdgarten, Samsøe Samsøe, and more brands known for their on-point designs, there’s still plenty more street style to come from the fashion-minded folks in Copenhagen this week. And since Danish street style has a reputation for influencing global trends — see: prairie collars and poofy dresses — we suggest you take note for the season ahead.
Click ahead to see how Copenhagen street style stars are dressing for their return to “work”--or something like it.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
In one of the covers, the Houston native wears a Valentino black bodysuit and cape and matching cowboy Stetson hat. She slipped into her glamorous alter ego for the second, donning a feathered-top champagne-colored Gucci dress with a bedazzled skirt. For the third cover, she has on a denim bodysuit-and-chaps combo by IVY PARK.
Of course, the entrepreneur took the opportunity in the accompanying interview to share more details about her latest IVY PARK collection, which includes thigh-high boots, dramatic cowboy hats, chaps, and denim corsets. In case the barn-inspired campaign — released on August 6 — didn’t give it away, she’s confirms the new collection has its roots in her early life in Houston. “This collection is a mixture of my childhood growing up in Texas and a bit of American history,” she told Harper’s Bazaar. “We were inspired by the culture and swag of the Houston rodeo,” she told the magazine’s Kaitlyn Greenidge.
She also channeled her inner horse girl for the Harper’s Bazaar feature. Posing against a black horse — even caressing its face — the Lemonade singer is wearing a black Givenchy dress with braided detailing, making it hard to tell where the horse ends and Bey’s magic begins. In another image inside the magazine, she recreated the cover of her first solo album, the 2003 release Dangerously In Love, wearing a Balmain crystal-encrusted crop top and an IVY PARK x adidas denim jumpsuit.
Andrea Pitter never saw herself becoming a reality television star. But after several friends and colleagues sent her the application form for Amazon’s Making The Cut, the Brooklyn-based bridal designer decided to at least take a look at the fashion competition series. Between the million-dollar prize, mentorship with Tim Gunn and Heidi Klum, and an opportunity to sell her pieces on Amazon Fashion, it quickly became a no-brainer. “I was like, ‘Sign me up!’” she tells Refinery29. It’s a good thing she did. Last week, Pitter won Making The Cut Season 2, now streaming on Amazon Prime Video.
“I’ve been through a lot throughout my career. This is one of those moments where I was like, ‘Okay, this is what all of this was for,’” she says.
Over the course of eight episodes, Making The Cut’s judges — Klum, Winnie Harlow, and Jeremy Scott, as well as guest stars — narrowed down the group to three finalists, including Pitter, Colombia’s Andrea Salazar, and New York’s Gary Graham. While, initially, Pitter had to be pushed to apply for the competition series, once she committed to participating, she didn’t waver once. “I had my eye on the prize from the very beginning,” she says. When asked if there was a moment she felt she could be sent home, Pitter confidently replies: “No.”
Scott agrees that there was no reason for Pitter to ever doubt herself. From the start of the season, the Moschino designer was one of Pitter’s biggest fans. “Every time she came up to talk, [talent and ambition] radiated from her,” he says. As a judge, Scott says his role was to push the participants to make clear why Amazon Fashion should bet their million-dollar prize on them. “What I really wanted to see from the designers was a driving force behind why they are doing what they are doing,” he says. According to him, Pitter excelled at that; the combination of “surprise” and “reinvention” is what he believes makes Pitter an “amazing talent.”
Pitter’s looks wowed the judges in almost every episode of the season. Naturally, her design prowess shined brightest during the bridalwear challenge in episode 3, when she created a wedding gown with a feather top and crisp ivory overskirt that was transformed into a jumpsuit when the model took off the skirt during the runway show. Still, she knew when to play outside her sandbox. In episode 5, designers were asked to create an avant-garde look using denim, in partnership with Levi’s. Pitters showcased an all-denim balloon-like jacket-and-skirt combo with pelvic cut-outs that won her the approval of Levi’s chief product officer Karyn Hillman and became Pitter’s favorite look of the season. Beyond her designs, Pitter gained the applause of the judges by challenging herself to perfect her fit on plus-size women, becoming the only designer in the competition to showcase her work on curvy models.
In 2009, Pitter started her brand Pantora Bridal — for brides, bridesmaids, guests, and kids — with just $4,000 of personal savings. Since then, she has built a name for herself in the wedding world thanks to her elegant, yet accessible designs, appearing in wedding publications and even on the cover of The Knot’s Spring 2021 issue earlier this year. But while she has had a fairly successful career before joining Making The Cut, Pitter says that she’s had to face a fair share of obstacles in getting to where she is today.
The daughter of Jamaican immigrants, Pitter was primed for a career in medicine or law. She remembers the exact moment she decided to quit her parents’ dreams to pursue her own: In the middle of a standardized test to enter a highly academic school, she began answering the questions wrong to not pass the exam. “I remember making a decision for myself despite what everyone would feel about it,” says Pitter. “That is probably my defining moment as a child.” Eventually, her parents came on board: “After a while, they were like ‘We either support her or lose her.’”
She ended up attending the High School of Fashion Industries in New York City and, later, the Fashion Institute of Technology. At 23, she decided to focus her career on bridal designs. “I had to find something that I enjoyed doing,” she says. “At one point I told myself, You have to do one thing if you want to make a mark.”
But while wedding designers are tasked with creating what some consider the most important look in one’s life, bridal fashion is rarely celebrated or recognized within the industry. “We are struggling to be seen,” Pitter says. “What makes us not fashion designers?”
While Pitter has struggled for recognition as a designer, she says that, as a Black woman, she has also felt overlooked by other brands. To prevent brides from feeling “like an afterthought” on their big day, she launched Forgotten Skin Tones in 2015, a collection of linings and illusion mesh offerings for women of color. “I wanted to create something that was readily available for women,” she says. “Something they can see to know that they were thought of.”
Throughout her career in fashion, Pitter says she’s found a way to bring her Caribbean heritage and Crown Heights upbringing with her as well. She says it’s been crucial for her to grow her business in Brooklyn. “So many people ask why I haven’t relocated to Manhattan,” she says. “Honestly, it’s because my neighborhood deserves to see nice things.” While she’s now opening two stores in downtown Los Angeles — thanks largely to the $1 million prize from Making The Cut — Pitter says that her focus will always be on elevating the community she’s from and being an inspiration to budding designers.
“When [you’re] a first-generation American, it’s hard to know that you can have out-of-the-box experiences,” she says. “For me to win, it allows more Caribbean parents to see that there can be success in [a fashion career].”
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Growing up, one of the reasons I was most happy to live in Florida was that I rarely had to wear jeans. For most of the year, it was simply too hot for them, and, even though I hated the humidity, it was a huge relief to not need an entire wardrobe of denim. As someone who was nearly six feet tall and wearing a size 12 in women’s clothes by the time I was 12 or 13, shopping for jeans wasn’t just difficult, it was flat-out miserable.
And the low-rise styles that were all the rage in the early-mid 2000s, the ones that are experiencing a comeback right now? They made the experience even worse. Unlike most of my peers, I had hips and a stomach as soon as I hit puberty. The idea of wearing low-rise jeans didn’t just seem physically uncomfortable to me but off-limits altogether, not least because that’s the message brands appeared to send out with few on-trend options in my size.
When my friends were shopping at popular teen destinations like Hollister or Abercrombie, I was searching for bigger sizes in the back section of a Macy’s, hiding the labels so no one would know that I wasn’t a size 2 or 4. I was angry that I wasn’t able to “pull off” the denim trend, and embarrassed to be wearing a bigger size than every other girl my age. I was barely a teenager at the time of the Y2K low-rise revolution but already full of bitterness that this was the hand I had been dealt when it came to fashion.
I didn’t feel like I was choosing not to wear low-rise jeans. Instead, it felt like there was a rule saying I couldn’t. Bodies like mine didn’t deserve to wear styles like that, I would tell myself. When I opened a magazine, turned on a television show, or went to the movies — I can still vividly remember seeing Lindsay Lohan’s low-slung jeans and mini skirts in the 2004 film Mean Girls and feeling sad that I could never dress just like that — and didn’t see a single body that looked like mine, this belief was confirmed.
For a long time, I cut out photos of models and fashion ads in magazines, which often included low-rise denim jeans and skirts, and pasted them on my wall. I told my parents and friends that this was because I liked fashion, but really I was using it as something much more dangerous: motivation to lose weight. I spent many nights dreaming up the exact outfits I would wear when I was thinner.
Luckily for me, the years after middle school passed quickly. Over time, I became more confident, styles changed, and body diversity started to slowly (very slowly) creep into mainstream media. The popularity of high-waisted silhouettes made things a bit easier and more comfortable, and an expansion of plus-size options at fashion-forward brands helped, too.
But I still didn’t particularly love wearing jeans until I made a major change — one that had never even crossed my mind as a 12-year-old hiding in the fitting room of a store made for people decades older than me: I started dressing in a way that worked for me — that made me the most comfortable, confident version of myself.
I realized that believing that I “couldn’t” wear things only limited my personal style. Resenting my body only deprived me of enjoying life. Creating restrictive fashion rules for myself only made me angry. So I let all of that go.
Sometimes, this meant not being afraid to go up one, two, or three sizes in denim. Other times, it meant not wearing jeans at all. Because of the way my body is built, I prefer items with a little more room and stretch to them; garments that don’t dig into my stomach when I sit down. That, along with the fact that constantly pulling up low-rise jeans or showing off a thong doesn’t feel comfortable to me, means I have no intention of jumping on the low-rise jeans trend now that it’s here again. But this time around, the reasoning behind my hesitation is different.
I thought then that not being “allowed” to wear certain trends meant that there was something wrong with my body, a flaw that needed to be improved before I experimented with fashion trends, or felt sexy in clothing. Now, I know that I can wear any trend I want to — low-rise jeans included — and the only person’s opinion that matters is mine. Because of that, I feel more confident than ever choosing styles that I know accommodate my body in a way that makes me feel the best in my skin.
That difference makes me feel sexier and trendier than a pair of low-rise jeans ever could. The only bitterness I feel these days is that I wasted so many years believing I wasn’t worthy of wearing what I wanted to. Luckily, that is starting to fade. It might even be gone by the next time early ‘00s trends make a resurgence.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?