To those who were stunned by Donald Trump’s return to the White House, fashion and beauty TikTokers have one thing to say: you were warned.
Creators on the platform are making the case that “trad wives,” “quiet luxury,” Western wear and even “clean girl” makeup were not, in fact (or not just, in some cases), cleverly-named flashes in the pan. Rather, they were tea leaves pointing to a rightward swing in American culture that presaged a Republican victory on election night.
“If anybody says ‘I didn’t know our country was going down a conservative path,’ I would ask you, have you been on the internet in the past four years?” Lindsey Bales, a Minneapolis-based fashion-focused creator, said in a TikTok video.
To be sure, not everyone who wore a milkmaid dress, a slicked back bun or a fringed jacket over the past few years voted for Trump. And in exit polls, Trump’s voters named immigration, inflation and other concerns as the primary motivation behind their choice.
But the virality of conservative-coded styles speaks to the fact that the ideas they represent — whether it’s a rural lifestyle, traditional family values or an idealisation of “old money” wealth — are edging their way back into the cultural mainstream. It’s a shift away from, if not an outright pushback against, a decade-plus where many brands embraced a progressive image, whether that meant taking a more inclusive approach to model casting or supporting Planned Parenthood.
Now, brands are grappling with how to market to a rising generation of consumers who are approaching their relationship with politics, and fashion differently. Gen-Zers, the driving force behind many TikTok trends, lean Republican in higher numbers than previous generations: they favoured Kamala Harris over Trump by a margin of 11 points, down from 24 points when Biden won in 2020, according to exit polls published by CNN.
Brands have been more reluctant to engage with politics than in 2020, or even 2016, perhaps an unspoken acknowledgment that with the Republicans winning both chambers of Congress as well as the presidential popular vote, too, this isn’t a demographic they can afford to alienate.
“Conservatism is like a deeply held value system, as much as progressivism,” said Elysia Berman, a creative director and content creator on TikTok whose video on how fashion trends predicted Trump’s election received over 300,000 likes. “When you feel that strongly about it, you want to reflect those ideals outwardly.”
Behind the Trends
The fashion industry likes to think it drives culture, but more often it’s the other way around. Women in the 1940s embraced pants and jumpsuits as they entered the workforce en masse during World War II. As traditional gender roles made a comeback in the 1950s, ultra-feminine wardrobes prevailed. More recently, the logomania of the 2010s can be connected to the rebound from the Great Recession, as shoppers wanted to celebrate their improving financial status.
After Trump’s first presidential win in 2016, fashion brands — and consumers — were eager to show off their progressive chops. Legacy brands like Victoria’s Secret updated their marketing to be more inclusive, while sustainability-minded labels like Reformation saw quick growth. While some brands could point to years, even decades of activism, many consumers came to question whether support for Black Lives Matter or inclusive marketing represented deeply held beliefs, or were stances taken mainly to sell clothes.
“Brands actually may never have had a lot of those values they claimed to,” said Hallie Spradlin, director of visionary at trend forecasting agency Fashion Snoops. “Rather they were just these immediate band aids or responses to the cultural conversation.”
As the world emerged from the pandemic, the trend cycle took a right turn.
“Succession” and its merciless satirising of the ultra-rich may have inspired quiet luxury, but the style is often marketed as a way to emulate the Roy family’s conservative media moguls, rather than mock them. The “old money” aesthetic that has bubbled up on TikTok also idealised a more conservative approach to dressing, both literally and figuratively. The look itself is modest — think pearls and cashmere sweater sets — but also reminiscent of old-school, Ronald Reagan-era Republicans.
Western wear comes from the cowboy culture that is most popular in ruby-red states like Montana and Wyoming. Even as Coachella attendees and liberal icons such as Beyoncé have embraced the look, it remains rooted in an animosity towards modern culture. Earlier this month, during the mid-season premiere of “Yellowstone,” the show credited in part with spurring the trend, for instance, even featured a cowboy lambasting two characters who were caricatures of coastal elites, with bright-red dyed hair and a wide-eyed fascination with horses.
Another example is the revival of Americana, best seen in Ralph Lauren’s record-high share price and sales this year. The brand isn’t overtly political, but its embrace of American touchstones, and the rah-rah boosterism of its Olympics sponsorship, struck a chord in an election year that saw both parties try to outdo each other in patriotic displays.
While this has crossover appeal — a YouGov poll this summer found that the patriotically named American Eagle is the brand with the greatest overlap of conservative and liberal customers — embracing the flag and traditional American values has been increasingly red-coded.
“MAGA leaned into the American flag so hard,” Berman said. “Even the word patriot doesn’t mean what it used to. If someone says they’re a patriot, I know exactly who they voted for.”
Other trends have been more explicitly conservative. “Tradwife” influencers adopt an idealised, highly stylised image of a 1950s-esque housewife, surrounded by children in a domestic setting. Some of the genre’s most popular creators, such as Nara Smith and Hannah Neelman of Ballerina Farm, don’t engage with politics. Others, however, have been more explicit in espousing the benefits of being subservient to their husbands and prioritising domestic tasks such as cooking and cleaning. As a July headline from the feminist Ms. magazine read: “Tradwives are doing conservatives’ work for them.”
Meanwhile, the “clean girl” aesthetic is predominantly evangelised by white, often blonde influencers. The “Utah curls” — or long, flowing waves — seen on the Hulu series “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives” were omnipresent at this year’s Republican National Convention.
The pervasiveness of these trends points to the fact that we’re living in a time where everyone is tapped into the look of the moment — and likely feels more pressure to conform to it. It’s a contrast from the pre-TikTok age, when trends weren’t named and spread like wildfire around the internet. Now, engaging with what’s in fashion has become something of a must for younger consumers, encouraging a sense of sameness. It’s all about “get the look” at any price, not “find your personal style.”
It’s an oversimplification that the widespread popularity of these trends speaks to acceptance of the ideals they can be associated with. People are finding ways to bring a personal touch even to the most omnipresent of trends, and an item of clothing can represent the left, right, centre, or nothing at all depending on who is wearing it. Beyoncé may have embraced Western wear, putting out a country album this year, but also campaigned for Harris. Some might be reclaiming their roots, rather than endorsing the values that sometimes come with them; others might simply like the look. When a trend crosses over into the mainstream, the meaning behind it may become diluted, if not changed entirely.
“It doesn’t mean the same thing to wear a big old belt buckle in New York City because you’re doing it ironically,” said Natalie Jolly, sociology professor at the University of Washington, Tacoma.
