“It's not that deep” is one of the most frustrating things I have heard in the last few years. I first saw the phrase thrown around a Tik Tok comment section of a video connecting (impractical) formalwear to slave ownership in antebellum America. The argument was, in short, that the aristocracy could wear uncomfortable clothes designed for a different climate because they did not perform labor in their clothes. Defenders of the “old money aesthetic,” whatever that is, flocked to the comments to say it isn’t that deep and argue that buying Ralph Lauren doesn’t mean you support slavery. Points were missed, straw men were beaten down, and it seemed like most people ignored the overarching thesis of the video: aesthetics are political constructions of beauty, not just styles to try on for a day or two. Aesthetics pierce the surface level illusion and reveal deeper desires and values of the author and those who find beauty in a particular image.
The images we see influence the way we view the world, and digital content compounds this by further alienating consumers from the original content or event. Running influencers lie about how fast and far they run, clothing trends like “eclectic grandpa core” compress decades of style into a single image, and apps like imprint offer bite sized pseudo-intellectual content for people to appear to be doing the work. The machine relentlessly stomps on as social media sites barrage us with a functionally infinite supply of content. One antidote avails itself to the slow runner, the out-of-style dresser, or idiot: consumption. Buy faster shoes, buy cheap sweaters designed to look old and expensive, and get a monthly subscription to an app that lets you do a few minutes of reading every day. If you’re stressed out you can get an emotional support Stanley or help yourself to a little sweet treat.
These trends expose larger social values that become detrimental over time. The clean girl and old money aesthetics rely on dated gender roles and rigid class hierarchies to purport a myth of aristocratic effortless beauty. The conflation of generational wealth and inherent good taste (in clothes, art, decoration) is akin to a modern-day capitalist aesthetic right to rule. Generational wealth arbitrarily assigned at birth (I wasn’t able to choose the family I was born into) stands in for a monarch's right to rule being dictated by god. Cleanness is often associated with whiteness, purity, and is regularly juxtaposed with the hyper graphic imagery of new money and black coded aesthetics like internet baddies. This is nothing new - the 2024 elections opened a wave of online discourse about how the recent fashion trends and art preferences indicate a conservative return to archaic values. Many people who can buy into the aesthetic do and, independent of whether or not they do have generational wealth, compress images of themselves into an aesthetic which attempts to nostalgically reference the leisure days of yesteryear. However, the emphasis on consuming smaller goods or luxury services may be indicative of a larger economic decline in America.
The 2010s were filled with articles about how millennials are the first generation since the 1800s to do worse than their parents. Housing prices are high, cost of living in many cities has skyrocketed after COVID, and recent grocery prices are stressing people out. The recent chatter about the great wealth transfer underscores how trillions of US dollars have been sequestered by boomers, and it seems like Trump may have been elected in part because the price of eggs is too damn high. Jokes aside, uncomfortable economic conditions for working class Americans reframe how people spend money. Smaller luxuries may be a contemporary opium for the people that temporarily salves deeper anxieties about institutions in the world. Consumption, particularly the consumption of cheap goods and services that allow a digital impression of entry into a particular aesthetic, are the only real option some people have to gain the digital entry into spaces people aspire to be in. Eclectic grandpa core, and the adjacent coastal grandma core, project an aesthetic of a comfortable middle class with lots of downtime: they were probably educated and make enough money to continue filling their houses with various bric-a-brac. In reality, it is that deep, because these trends pick up on larger anxieties to project an air of education and economic comfort that is slowly slipping away from many people in the country.
Aesthetic trends are not just passing preferences, they are reflections of racial and class divisions that tap into economic anxieties. It is clear that, even in the most extreme cases, we are simultaneously shaping culture while it shapes us, too. Dismissing things as “not that deep” ignores larger constructions of beauty, value, and worth that shape people's identities and access to power. Defining, critiquing, and teasing out the discrete components of any aesthetic construction provides insight into the author’s politics. This becomes easier than ever in the hyper-mediated digital world where many aesthetics are the deliberate reproduction of a “more authentic” image. The cable knit sweater of an eclectic grandpa, the emphasis on “subdued beauty” in the old money aesthetic, or emphasis on consumption for sport performance are all smoking guns that divert attention away from social problems and onto the reproduction of a particular image in real life. It is important to determine who benefits and who is excluded from these conversations.