Over the past five years in fashion, there’s been a “main character” energy that’s dominated popular culture, according to culture researcher Agus Panzoni. Every piece of clothing became an opportunity for extreme personalisation, from customising everything down to shoe charms to everyone wanting the most obscure of trinkets to hang from their handbags (adorned with bows and ribbons, of course). Then, last year, there was a shift: people started making fun of the ‘micro-trend final bosses’ who took personal style inspiration from the internet. Somewhat ironically, in seeking hyper-individuality through a revolving door of micro trends, we lost true personal style along the way. The antithesis of this, it seems, is to look, dress and act so “basic” that it’s clear you’re not trying to differentiate yourself at all. Now, being a “normie” is becoming romanticised – or normanticised, rather.

It’s worth noting that I’ll use the terms “basic” and “normie” throughout this article not as an insult to those who enjoy popular things but as an idea: that those who conform the most to societal beauty and gender norms, and entirely buy into the capitalistic system, are somehow happier. We see it every time a young 20-something girl posts on TikTok that it’s “freeing” to shop at Lululemon, get a boyfriend who’s on the football team and fantasise about the white picket fence – as if any of those things were not only already entirely socially acceptable but also part of the historical narrative that women should be beautiful homemakers. Or post that being “basic” makes you more likeable and less obnoxious. Even those who don’t consider themselves in the “basic” category are daydreaming about being a “normie”. Like Giliann, who joked on X: “It must be so awesome to be a normie engaged to your longtime boyfriend at age 26.”

Panzoni says the rise of normanticisation signals a readjustment. “It’s a response to the overconceptualization of style,” she says. “Right now, we’re seeing a widespread elevation of essentials: denim, button-ups, blazers, suits, uniforms and a broader surge of interest in minimalist fashion that has been growing during the past couple of years.” This is hardly surprising, considering that fashion often becomes an early barometer of shifting consumer priorities during periods of economic uncertainty, but Panzoni believes something deeper is at play. She calls the quiet retreat to basics and basic dressing in fashion the “dark forest theory of fashion”. This means: “Dressing in consciously ‘basic’ ways’ (like essentials) laced with subtle cues of insider knowledge, as a strategy for safeguarding personal subjectivities from the overexposure and aesthetic extraction that’s become so common online.” In other words, the growing yearning to be “basic” simply be boiled down to being a “recession indicator”. 

Michael O’Hara, a fashion photographer in New York, swears the basics “have more fun”. “In New York City, there’s a huge group of people in the same line of work as me that thrive on exclusivity,” he says. “Sometimes, I just want to let loose, and normies are more interested in having fun and being carefree.” It brings to mind the age-old fashion girlfriend, finance boyfriend stereotype, or as O’Hara calls it, “left-brained” and “right-brained” people. “I love my basic friend groups because you don’t need to take an hour to get ready, we aren’t on any list, money is not an issue, they don’t judge you for what you’re wearing and everyone has happy and positive energy,” he says. When asked if O’Hara’s friends know that he calls them “basic”, he laughed. “Oh yeah, my basic friends know they are basic.” Similarly, many of those in creative spaces are aware that the industry’s obsession with exclusivity or nicheness often comes across as limiting, pretentious and exclusionary.

O’Hara considers it a must to have a “basic friend group” and purposely oscillates between more creative spaces and his more “basic” friends. However, for some more alternative people, appearing basic is simply a cover. In the comments section under videos about why people turned from alt to basic, there are multiple confessions about the realities of appearing alternative: unwanted attention, bullying, sexualisation, disapproval from parents and needing to appear “professional” at work or being too tired to express yourself while working full-time. “I felt that alternative subcultures were too nostalgic and find it more interesting to be hyper normal as a form of subversion,” wrote one person. But how subversive really is the rise of the idea that white women with Utah curls, knee-high boots and conservative husbands are ultimately “happier”? Especially in a time where right-wing trad wives commodify traditional, white supremacist renditions of femininity. 

Even O’Hara, a self-confessed “basics” advocate, doesn’t feel entirely “in” with “the basics”. While his basic friends have more fun, they also live a heteronormative existance. “They work a 9 to 5, get married and have children but a lot of people who are queer, like myself, don’t have the luxury of living that life,” he says. “It can be a little upsetting to only hang out with those friends because they’re on a life path I just biologically or creatively fit into.” Still, O’Hara enjoys dipping in and out of their world – a place where politics isn’t spoken about at the dinner table and the dream of a white picket fence still exists (even though most young Americans have been priced out of home ownership). “Ten years ago, being a basic bitch was something you hated on, and you’d strive to never enjoy the pumpkin spice lattes, or whatever else the basics seem to latch onto,” he says. “But, you know what, it’s almost more punk to realise the basics are onto something and that pumpkin spice lattes are the shit.”