The Face of Fashion Under American Fascism
Well, he’s back.
Over the past few weeks, several articles - most recently, a viral New York Magazine piece - have announced the burgeoning cultural relevance of a new type of consumer: the young, mostly white, mostly male wealthy of the “post-shame” era bearing the flag of an increasingly conservative generation. They promise to usher in a new aesthetic similar to the powersuit masculinity of the 1980’s.
Meanwhile, everything from Melania’s inauguration outfits to Trump’s potential tariffs have been analyzed by the fashion and luxury press, desperate to find footing in a market downdraft that will only grow increasingly turbulent.
What’s certain is that Trump 2.0 - and the “return to mainstream” of cultural conservatism among wealthy elites - stands to affect fashion as both an industry, and as a visual and material culture more broadly.
The American presidency has long set a stylistic tone for the rest of the nation, from JFK’s youthful style or Michelle Obama’s J.Crew twinsets. During the first Trump administration, White House style was more often the site of controversy than influence. But that tide might be turning, especially as key industry players pay closer attention to maintaining positive operating conditions in the US.
If thinking about fashion feels frivolous right now, it can be helpful to remember that clothing isn’t just consumerism - it’s one of the most accurate barometers of sociality we have, with much to say about who we are, what we do, and how we organize ourselves. That’s valuable intelligence for observing - and resisting - social change in the years to come.
Below, a few early-stage, weak signal predictions for changes we’ll see in the era of Trump 2.0.
1/We’ll wear our politics on our sleeves
If Super Bowl LIX commercials were any indication, Americans don’t seem to have much in common any more. Brands like Uber Eats and Little Caesar’s relied on star-studded spots to attract audiences, following a longer-term trend in American advertising to find common cultural references. Meanwhile, Bud Light tried to win back conservatives with a suburban setting starring Post Malone.
That’s without mentioning Kendrick Lamar’s politically-charged halftime show and Trump’s controversial salute.
America is a consumer society, so it’s no surprise that our buying behavior follows political fault lines. And as we move towards an increasingly fragmented cultural context, micro-scale consumption will become a more powerful levy of political positioning across the board - raw milk, anyone?
Over the next few years, we’ll see the emergence of new micro-symbols of belonging and positioning, which brands will need to follow closely in order to avoid misstepping. That’s not to say that brands should become political actors - rather, they should prepare themselves for operating an ecosystem in which everything from milk alternatives to hair color becomes a signifier for “the other side.”
If the Super Bowl is any indication, that doesn’t mean appealing to the largest possible common cultural denominator, relying on standbys like celebrity marketing - which run the risk of turning into white noise. Rather, it means identifying the shared, human emotions at the core of brand DNA, and using those to tap audiences.
2/We’ll witness the end of “quiet luxury”
America’s wealthiest stand to benefit from Trump 2.0, a promising harbinger of growth in the US market for the fashion industry. But potential shifts in the face of wealth under the new administration could have wider-reaching effects on consumer trends across the board.
Take Quiet Luxury, for example. The look took over luxury marketing briefs for most of 2023, and made household names of previously lowkey brands like Loro Piana and The Row. Supposedly, “Quiet Luxury” was rooted in the understated, IYKYK shopping habits of the uber-wealthy - a kind of “moral” alternative to flashy consumerism and a signifier of cultural capital.
In truth, the Quiet Luxury aesthetic has roots in a very real socio-psychological shift amongst the world’s wealthiest. Over the past decade or so, UHNWI populations have exploded - and for the first time, a majority of them were “self-made.” These new wealthy were increasingly mobile and educated. They were more likely to be women, people of color, or hail from developing countries. And without inherited fortunes to manage, a focus on tradition and heritage was replaced by a focus on individual self-improvement.
This demographic shakeup also changed signifiers of distinction and taste amongst the wealthiest. Experiential consumption, travel, and knowledge replaced luxury bags, inherited jewellery, and new cars as status symbols. Dress itself became understated and casual, with Silicon Valley billionaires taking over the world one Patagonia vest at a time.
Welcome to the post-visibility era that’s characterized luxury for the past 5 years. Brands quickly fell in line, responding to shifting consumer demands by expanding into hospitality and dining verticals. Meanwhile, the shift away from labels and branded goods has contributed to the rise of dupe culture.
Of course, luxury brands still struggle to maintain cultural relevance based on labels alone. And the experience economy is upheld by the kind of digital souvenirs that turn an Instagram Story into a DIY luxury good.
But as Trump 2.0 policies promise to shift the face of wealth again, new status symbols will emerge. Wellness culture isn’t going away - Silicon Valley’s wealthiest are obsessed with finding a fountain of youth, and maintaining a style to match. In the “post-shame era” we’re also likely to see a return to show-off culture, coupled with a relative uniformity and conservatism in dress. These won’t be the individualist, maximalist aesthetics we’ve held in opposition to Quiet Luxury over the years - these will be loud, proud expressions of wealth and power.
3/Boys will be boys in the post-genderfluid era
“Genderfluid” style became a fashion buzzword in the immediate post-Covid era, right around a time of unprecedented visibility - and controversy - surrounding “queer” dress. At a market level, this was largely a euphemism for men beginning to adopt “feminine” aesthetics (think Harry Styles, Lil Nas X); or dip into categories, like beauty, once considered exclusively feminine.
Genderfluid fashion wasn’t so much a seismic shift in the way Americans embody gender as it was (1) a positional marketing buzzword thrown into collection and campaign briefs to align brands with the cultural zeitgeist, (2) a shrewd business move to boost market size by opening previously-gendered categories up to new audiences. After all, men buying make-up widens the playing field by 50%.
To be clear, people who push the strict binary boxes of gender in their dress have always existed, and always will - but the rise of genderfluid as a marketing term always felt more parasitic than subversive; an attempt to capitalize on social progressivism by turning it into spectacle.
Well, anyways, that’s all over now. As supporters of the Trump administration celebrate the end of “wokeism” in American culture, a number of retailers are scrambling to fall in line and shifting their marketing strategies to match. Such a nebulous, surface-level conception of genderfluid fashion as a marketing strategy is likely to shrivel in Trump’s corporate landscape.
On the contrary, we’re seeing emerging aesthetics and subcultures - tradwives, alpha males, and a brand new generation of Patrick Bateman wannabes redefine “cool” along strictly gendered lines. As the locus of cultural capital and coolness shifts away from Bushwick creatives and recenters on TikTok tradwives, we’re likely to see fewer and fewer brands capitalize on queer culture to drive sales.
(And by the way, I’m not saying this is a good thing, especially when the bar for representation is already on the floor - ask anyone how much I love seeing cool, fashionable lesbians on RHONY.)
4/We’ll see Nu-prep styles shift in signification
A number of brands, like Rowing Blazers, Sporty and Rich, Vacation Sunscreen, and even Miu Miu have successfully ridden a wave of “Nu-Prep” by adopting the colors, silhouettes, and cheekiness of prep fashion and subverting them with on-the-nose, post-ironic messaging.
Outside the fashion space, restaurants like The American Bar and The Polo Bar made stodgy, country club aesthetics cool for a new generation.
As we witness the rise of the young Right, we’re seeing the return of traditional signifiers of wealth. Indeed, it would appear that upper-class conservatism in the Trump era is largely an expression of material culture.
“The Future is Female Under Trump,” declares The Conservateur, a right-wing fashion and lifestyle website that claims to offer a reprieve from mainstream "woke" fashion media while co-opting its aesthetics and semantics.
When opening the website, one is asked to subscribe by a banner ad featuring a thin, white model running along the beach in an American flag bikini. The image, straight out of the 1990’s - or pretending to be - embodies the simulacra of nostalgia that characterizes the glossy aesthetic of American fascism. It’s not all rednecks in screaming eagle t-shirts - it’s clean cut women and men in Fred Perry polos.
“The women of Trump-Vance are crafting a legacy as polished and resilient as the pearls they wear,” says the article, “Let’s meet Trump’s trailblazers with heels on the ground.” Indeed, the future of female leadership in the nation is preppy, white, and feminine.
As the Trump 2.0 era progresses, it will be interesting to watch how Nu-prep brands adapt and operate as their aesthetics are increasingly associated with the young Right. After all, these aren’t the pearl necklaces strung around the necks of Dimes Square hipsters. It’s brands like these that have so successfully leveraged product-based marketing - and now, they’ll have to carefully observe the cultural playing field to make sure they’re landing with the right clients.
5/In Conclusion
“Yes, the planet got destroyed. But for a beautiful moment in time, we generated a lot of shareholder value.”
The Face of Fashion Under American Fascism
Well, he’s back.
Over the past few weeks, several articles - most recently, a viral New York Magazine piece - have announced the burgeoning cultural relevance of a new type of consumer: the young, mostly white, mostly male wealthy of the “post-shame” era bearing the flag of an increasingly conservative generation. They promise to usher in a new aesthetic similar to the powersuit masculinity of the 1980’s.
Meanwhile, everything from Melania’s inauguration outfits to Trump’s potential tariffs have been analyzed by the fashion and luxury press, desperate to find footing in a market downdraft that will only grow increasingly turbulent.
What’s certain is that Trump 2.0 - and the “return to mainstream” of cultural conservatism among wealthy elites - stands to affect fashion as both an industry, and as a visual and material culture more broadly.
The American presidency has long set a stylistic tone for the rest of the nation, from JFK’s youthful style or Michelle Obama’s J.Crew twinsets. During the first Trump administration, White House style was more often the site of controversy than influence. But that tide might be turning, especially as key industry players pay closer attention to maintaining positive operating conditions in the US.
If thinking about fashion feels frivolous right now, it can be helpful to remember that clothing isn’t just consumerism - it’s one of the most accurate barometers of sociality we have, with much to say about who we are, what we do, and how we organize ourselves. That’s valuable intelligence for observing - and resisting - social change in the years to come.
Below, a few early-stage, weak signal predictions for changes we’ll see in the era of Trump 2.0.
1/We’ll wear our politics on our sleeves
If Super Bowl LIX commercials were any indication, Americans don’t seem to have much in common any more. Brands like Uber Eats and Little Caesar’s relied on star-studded spots to attract audiences, following a longer-term trend in American advertising to find common cultural references. Meanwhile, Bud Light tried to win back conservatives with a suburban setting starring Post Malone.
That’s without mentioning Kendrick Lamar’s politically-charged halftime show and Trump’s controversial salute.
America is a consumer society, so it’s no surprise that our buying behavior follows political fault lines. And as we move towards an increasingly fragmented cultural context, micro-scale consumption will become a more powerful levy of political positioning across the board - raw milk, anyone?
Over the next few years, we’ll see the emergence of new micro-symbols of belonging and positioning, which brands will need to follow closely in order to avoid misstepping. That’s not to say that brands should become political actors - rather, they should prepare themselves for operating an ecosystem in which everything from milk alternatives to hair color becomes a signifier for “the other side.”
If the Super Bowl is any indication, that doesn’t mean appealing to the largest possible common cultural denominator, relying on standbys like celebrity marketing - which run the risk of turning into white noise. Rather, it means identifying the shared, human emotions at the core of brand DNA, and using those to tap audiences.
2/We’ll witness the end of “quiet luxury”
America’s wealthiest stand to benefit from Trump 2.0, a promising harbinger of growth in the US market for the fashion industry. But potential shifts in the face of wealth under the new administration could have wider-reaching effects on consumer trends across the board.
Take Quiet Luxury, for example. The look took over luxury marketing briefs for most of 2023, and made household names of previously lowkey brands like Loro Piana and The Row. Supposedly, “Quiet Luxury” was rooted in the understated, IYKYK shopping habits of the uber-wealthy - a kind of “moral” alternative to flashy consumerism and a signifier of cultural capital.
In truth, the Quiet Luxury aesthetic has roots in a very real socio-psychological shift amongst the world’s wealthiest. Over the past decade or so, UHNWI populations have exploded - and for the first time, a majority of them were “self-made.” These new wealthy were increasingly mobile and educated. They were more likely to be women, people of color, or hail from developing countries. And without inherited fortunes to manage, a focus on tradition and heritage was replaced by a focus on individual self-improvement.
This demographic shakeup also changed signifiers of distinction and taste amongst the wealthiest. Experiential consumption, travel, and knowledge replaced luxury bags, inherited jewellery, and new cars as status symbols. Dress itself became understated and casual, with Silicon Valley billionaires taking over the world one Patagonia vest at a time.
Welcome to the post-visibility era that’s characterized luxury for the past 5 years. Brands quickly fell in line, responding to shifting consumer demands by expanding into hospitality and dining verticals. Meanwhile, the shift away from labels and branded goods has contributed to the rise of dupe culture.
Of course, luxury brands still struggle to maintain cultural relevance based on labels alone. And the experience economy is upheld by the kind of digital souvenirs that turn an Instagram Story into a DIY luxury good.
But as Trump 2.0 policies promise to shift the face of wealth again, new status symbols will emerge. Wellness culture isn’t going away - Silicon Valley’s wealthiest are obsessed with finding a fountain of youth, and maintaining a style to match. In the “post-shame era” we’re also likely to see a return to show-off culture, coupled with a relative uniformity and conservatism in dress. These won’t be the individualist, maximalist aesthetics we’ve held in opposition to Quiet Luxury over the years - these will be loud, proud expressions of wealth and power.
3/Boys will be boys in the post-genderfluid era
“Genderfluid” style became a fashion buzzword in the immediate post-Covid era, right around a time of unprecedented visibility - and controversy - surrounding “queer” dress. At a market level, this was largely a euphemism for men beginning to adopt “feminine” aesthetics (think Harry Styles, Lil Nas X); or dip into categories, like beauty, once considered exclusively feminine.
Genderfluid fashion wasn’t so much a seismic shift in the way Americans embody gender as it was (1) a positional marketing buzzword thrown into collection and campaign briefs to align brands with the cultural zeitgeist, (2) a shrewd business move to boost market size by opening previously-gendered categories up to new audiences. After all, men buying make-up widens the playing field by 50%.
To be clear, people who push the strict binary boxes of gender in their dress have always existed, and always will - but the rise of genderfluid as a marketing term always felt more parasitic than subversive; an attempt to capitalize on social progressivism by turning it into spectacle.
Well, anyways, that’s all over now. As supporters of the Trump administration celebrate the end of “wokeism” in American culture, a number of retailers are scrambling to fall in line and shifting their marketing strategies to match. Such a nebulous, surface-level conception of genderfluid fashion as a marketing strategy is likely to shrivel in Trump’s corporate landscape.
On the contrary, we’re seeing emerging aesthetics and subcultures - tradwives, alpha males, and a brand new generation of Patrick Bateman wannabes redefine “cool” along strictly gendered lines. As the locus of cultural capital and coolness shifts away from Bushwick creatives and recenters on TikTok tradwives, we’re likely to see fewer and fewer brands capitalize on queer culture to drive sales.
(And by the way, I’m not saying this is a good thing, especially when the bar for representation is already on the floor - ask anyone how much I love seeing cool, fashionable lesbians on RHONY.)
4/We’ll see Nu-prep styles shift in signification
A number of brands, like Rowing Blazers, Sporty and Rich, Vacation Sunscreen, and even Miu Miu have successfully ridden a wave of “Nu-Prep” by adopting the colors, silhouettes, and cheekiness of prep fashion and subverting them with on-the-nose, post-ironic messaging.
Outside the fashion space, restaurants like The American Bar and The Polo Bar made stodgy, country club aesthetics cool for a new generation.
As we witness the rise of the young Right, we’re seeing the return of traditional signifiers of wealth. Indeed, it would appear that upper-class conservatism in the Trump era is largely an expression of material culture.
“The Future is Female Under Trump,” declares The Conservateur, a right-wing fashion and lifestyle website that claims to offer a reprieve from mainstream "woke" fashion media while co-opting its aesthetics and semantics.
When opening the website, one is asked to subscribe by a banner ad featuring a thin, white model running along the beach in an American flag bikini. The image, straight out of the 1990’s - or pretending to be - embodies the simulacra of nostalgia that characterizes the glossy aesthetic of American fascism. It’s not all rednecks in screaming eagle t-shirts - it’s clean cut women and men in Fred Perry polos.
“The women of Trump-Vance are crafting a legacy as polished and resilient as the pearls they wear,” says the article, “Let’s meet Trump’s trailblazers with heels on the ground.” Indeed, the future of female leadership in the nation is preppy, white, and feminine.
As the Trump 2.0 era progresses, it will be interesting to watch how Nu-prep brands adapt and operate as their aesthetics are increasingly associated with the young Right. After all, these aren’t the pearl necklaces strung around the necks of Dimes Square hipsters. It’s brands like these that have so successfully leveraged product-based marketing - and now, they’ll have to carefully observe the cultural playing field to make sure they’re landing with the right clients.
5/In Conclusion
“Yes, the planet got destroyed. But for a beautiful moment in time, we generated a lot of shareholder value.”