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Photographed by Rosamond Chung Design by Moe Wang Modeled by Charlize Tungol Gabi Popa Anthony Jakobs

YOUTHQUAKE

by Erin Renzi

Gen Zers are known for their drive to create change — scroll through social media or walk on any college campus and you will hear conversations surrounding our current political climate and social justice movements. Unique and expressive fashion trends go hand in hand with these movements, supporting the goals of the world’s youth. As seen with Gen Z, self- expression and comfortability in one’s self often prompts outward political expression.

The intersection of these ideals have prompted a “youthquake” in recent years. Youthquake is defined as a significant cultural, political, or social change arising from the actions or influence of young people. While the history of the word takes root in a fashion movement of the 1960s, many would argue that in 2022, we are in the midst of a youthquake.

In 1965, Vogue editor-in-chief Diana Vreeland coined the term youthquake. According to Vanity Fair, Vreeland invented the word to describe “Swinging London” in the 1960s, which was a youth-driven cultural revolution in the United Kingdom during the age of the British Invasion and World War II. At the movement’s center stood the ideas of modernity and fun-loving hedonism, which is a series of theories that all value pleasure. The rejection of traditional ideals of femininity during the ‘50s as a result of women’s newfound economic, sexual, and social indepenence is also thought to have put Youthquake into motion.

Complimentary to the movement, London’s youth engaged in Beatlemania and wore miniskirts, which were included in luxury designer’s spring lines. Designers incorporated industrial plastics, metallic fibers, and jumpsuits as an homage to the Space Age trend A-line silhouettes and bold colors were all the rage. Youthquake also influenced the rise of boutiques, where couture houses carried pieces influenced by these new trends that were mass produced for lower prices. The popularity of boutiques also contributed to the closing of several couture houses, such as Balenciaga. In 2017, Oxford Dictionary proclaimed youthquake the word of the year. With all of the political and social movements occuring in 2017, this is fitting. 2017 marked the year of the #MeToo campaign and the start of Trump’s presidency, which prompted The Women’s March to demand gender equality and other civil rights issues. Protestors wore pink pussy hats and T-shirts with feminist slogans.

In 2022, we are in the midst of another youthquake, or rather, still in the era of the youthquake that began in 2017. The 2020 presidential election inspired Gen Z to call for change in the current government administration. With Gen Z rooting for Biden and the dismantling of conspiracy theories spread by right-wing subcultures concerning mail-in ballots and voting, there was significant pushback from America’s youth when the capitol was stormed on January 6th, 2020 as well as around COVID-19 misinformation perpetrated by our nation’s leaders.

According to “7 Fashion Trends That Will Be Big in 2022,” an article published by Elle, youthquake trends that were popular in the ‘60s will dominate this year, including the miniskirt in low-rise and high-rise styles and bold and sparkly fabrics. At the time of the original youthquake, these trends were considered subversive because they challenged the status quo and what was currently seen as “in fashion.” Today, popular retailers incorporate youthquake ideals directly into their lines. Free People’s “We The Free” collection includes bold essential pieces like the “Youthquake Crop Flare Jeans,” a high rise pant that is tight in the thighs and bells out at the knees.

Fashion pieces that align with youthquake ideals aren’t limited to eccentric patterns and unique silhouettes. Today’s youth incorporate important social causes as part of their fashion statements. Dylan Scott, a junior visual media arts major, demonstrates queer empowerment through supporting clothing brand Lockwood51. The company is queer owned and operated, and Scott creates promotional videos for the brand. Both he and his boyfriend own several t-shirts and hoodies from the brand, their favorite being one that says “Destroy racism / destroy sexism / destroy homophobia / destroy transphobia” in a bold font. “It’s not corporate pride stuff like Target and all those companies that make stuff to profit off and slap a rainbow on so people will buy it, and then don’t actually do anything for the community,” Scott said.

Sustainable fashion is another important aspect of the current youthquake era. As Vogue highlights in their recent project “Youthquake,” where they looked at 41 Gen Z creators from 24 countries, youthquake fashion trends can range from handmade knit pieces to sustainable workwear. During the first youthquake in the ‘60s, sustainable fashion wasn’t at the forefront of the movement. Mass production of clothing sold in boutiques led to poor working conditions and manufacturing processes that were not environmentally conscious. This is ironic considering that youthquakes stem from subversive intentions.

In the past few years, thrifting has become an integral part of Gen Z culture and fashion. Social media has helped with popularizing shopping second hand. Those who are on “Thrift Tok,” the side of TikTok where creators film videos shopping at local thrift stores and hauls of items they have bought, have been influenced to shop sustainably. While trend cycles rotate quickly, thrifting is one that has stuck with the Gen Z crowd.

“Even if something is ethically sourced, just buying secondhand and just consuming less in general is the best thing you can do for the environment,” Scott said. He loves to go thrift shopping for jeans, and buy band t-shirts and other unique pieces from secondhand online stores like Depop.

Elements of pop culture also help Gen Z step into their own styles and unique fashion choices. Season two of HBO’s television series “Euphoria” inspires many of the eccentric fashion trends youth love today, including strappy clothing, iridescent glitter, and rhinestones incorporated into eye makeup looks. Seeing popular actors and actresses sport bold looks helps viewers feel more empowered to express themselves through their own fashion choices.

As an avid lover of fashion and “Euphoria” I was fascinated by the character Cassie Howard, played by Sydney Sweeney, and the evolution of her style. Cassie felt as though she had lost all control and desperately saught validation from Nate Jacobs. In effort to get Nate to notice her, Cassie woke up at 4:00 a.m. every morning to get ready. One day, she dressed like Jules, half of her blonde hair in two high ponytails and bright pink triangular eyeshadow. Another day, she dressed just like Maddy, hair in a high ponytail, rhinestone eyeliner, and a outfit that was almost identical to her supposed best friend’s.

“DURING A TIME WHEN THE WORLD IS CONSTANTLY CHANGING AND NORMAL CEASES TO EXIST, YOUTHQUAKE IS MORE PROMINENT THAN EVER. “

When one feels as though they have lost all power, trying to regain that power through fashion can make it feel as though you are once again in control. This is seen time and time again with Gen Z as we navigate our current world and the youthquake we have insinuated. Climate change is too big an issue to solve alone, and so we shop sustainably. The government is trying to control women’s reproductive rights, so we wear pink vulvas on T-shirts and dress provocatively. The rights of the LGBTQ+ community are in jeopardy, so we wear clothing that symbolizes queer impowerment.

Youthquake and the social movements and trends that come with it aren’t going where. During a time when the world is constantly changing and normal ceases to exist, youthquake is more prominent than ever.

DEPOP & IDENTITY DEPOP GENTRIFICATION AND IDENTITY

by Stella Drews-Sheldon GENTRIFICATION by Stella Drews-Sheldon

America’s culture of disposability with fashion is largely a product of the last two centuries. The industrial revolution and mass production led to a shift in the view of clothing from a repurposable item of functionality to a disposable and fluid signifier of identity and social class. In the early 19th century, as more and more garments were being thrown away, pawn shops specializing in clothing began to emerge.

Despite the negative social stigma associated with buying resold clothes, a number of Christian ministries saw the business as a lucrative opportunity to fund mission trips. This is when organizations like Salvation Army and Goodwill were introduced, utilizing an implied quality of social altruism to their advantage.

The rise of e-commerce and the online marketplace has since made thrift stores into a $14 billion industry. Enter: Depop. Depop, and a number of other online outlets like it, are far more reminiscent of the nineteenth-century pawn shop model than the for-profit religious institutional one that Salvation Army popularized. Rather than selling secondhand clothing for a discounted price, these sites allow users to directly sell their own clothing to other users.

Depop, ThredUp, and Poshmark were all introduced in the early 2010s; however, Depop has managed to not only eat up the majority of the market share but have arguably the most poignant social impact. One explanation for Depop’s popularity is that it combines aspects of both traditional online stores and social media platforms. Items can receive likes and comments, while popular items can be featured on the landing page. Sellers have a displayed follower count and can even receive the classic “blue checkmark” verification based on popularity or celebrity status. Another explanation is their concise and effective branding as a sustainable, individualistic, and inclusive alternative to traditional methods of garment shopping.

I use Depop. A lot. I have switched to almost exclusively buying my clothes from the app, partly because I find it easier to find specific items that I have in mind and partly because I feel like buying fast fashion or leather secondhand absolves me of the guilt I would have from buying it otherwise. Last semester, I used Depop to sell half of my wardrobe because I needed the money, and I was tired of the blow to the ego I got from receiving a $13 coupon for donating a trash bag full of clothes to Buffalo Exchange. So, clearly, I get the appeal, and I do believe that there are a lot of benefits to normalizing repurposed material. However, I think that it’s important to examine the ways in which Depop falls short of its mission and which ways this emerging “thrift influencer” culture damages the greater secondhand landscape.

Let’s start with Depop’s promise of sustainability. Environmentally, the platform delivers…kind of. An issue that emerges when thrift buying and selling is the incentive to maximize profit. This is only exemplified when the site functions like social media because sellers become more marketable based on reputation and clout than direct quality of product. This is why there are many Depop shops with thousands of followers that merely purchase en masse from drop-shipped fast fashion websites, remove identifiable tags, and sell them at a much higher price.

It also is what leads to the most prevalent consideration of Depop, which is the newer phenomena of wealthy twenty-something college students sweeping through Goodwills in low-income areas, purchasing many clothes at a low price and then posting them to the site at a very high price, attaching tags like “rare” and “vintage” seemingly arbitrarily. This kind of reverse-Robin Hood method of entrepreneurship slides a little below the morally gray area.

Depop also consistently advertises their commitment to diversity. And yes, their ads do tend to feature a relatively diverse cross-section of the attractive, below-30 community, but the concept seems to dematerialize within their algorithm. The vast majority of models on the trending page are very thin, young white women. This points not only to issues within social media (that we know exist) but to issues within fashion as an industry (that we know exist).

The problems with Depop really aren’t linked to anything the company is at least consciously doing. The problem is, overall, the existence of any marketplace of identity. Social media, funneled through the net of post-capitalism, has altered our narrative on identity from the perceptions of ourselves and the perceptions of those around us to the perception of everyone and its congruity with insidious social structures. Bypassing the culture of identity-seeking through brand loyalty, we enter a landscape where everyone becomes the brand (i.e., Look how cool this girl is, and look how many followers she has. I can take my share of that identity by purchasing her sweater vest).

I don’t really know how to feel about using Depop as much as I do. A part of me feels like I am still, morally speaking, chasing the preferable path as opposed to buying even the most seemingly-altruistic brands that are still a little cagey about their manufacturing practices. Part of me feels like a chump for buying into yet another entrapping network that largely runs on subjugating practices and dogma. Thrifting is indeed a relic of an era preceding the disposability of personal possessions, but its existence within capitalism has always molded an industry that nonetheless profits from oppression. I think all any Depop user can really do at the end of the day is be conscientious of the social and environmental impact of their activities within the app and aim to empower those whose image and brand are so often drowned out by the sea of Goodwill-combers and drop-shippers.