People Who Accidentally Started Fashion Trends : By Kasey Dugan

People Who Accidentally Started Fashion Trends : By Kasey Dugan

These days, it feels as though we’ve recycled through every trend imaginable. Even Vogue Runway director, Nicole Phelps, once essentially said that she wasn’t sure where fashion trends were heading.

Trend cycles have never been quicker than they are today. Compared to previous decades, where a singular trend could last a few years, trends now have a shelf life of a few months if they’re lucky.

How did that happen? The internet. It wasn’t one particular thing: it was many things. It was shopping haul vlogs. It was “Get Ready With Me” videos. It was trying to buy the same Zara shirt as seen on your favorite 2015 nepo baby. It was the accessibility of Amazon delivery. It was the overconsumption of Kylie Lip Kits and its knockoffs. It was lockdown during 2020.

Yes, the internet has contributed to the rise of fast fashion and the birth of a thousand microtrends. But it has also shaped spaces where individuality soars and creativity blossoms. It’s where millions of people can come together to celebrate their differences.

I’m going to break down a few popular fashion trends that you may not have realized began on social media.

Art Hoe/Art Heaux

You’ve probably heard of “art hoe” before. You know the one — the mustard yellow Kanken backpack, checkered vans, and 90s windbreakers? This style peaked in 2016 and lasted through 2019, but it began as an impressive movement of nonconformity in early 2015.

Mars and Jam are often credited as the originators of ‘art hoe’, a movement meant to redefine gender, race, and sexual identities online and how they exist in art spaces. Mars and Jam, both people of color, came together after they realized that their unique selfies were going viral on Tumblr. These selfies included artistic sketches, doodles, or sometimes partial recreations of recognizable famous artworks. 

But what did it mean to be an “art hoe?” The movement was initially created for people of color and queer artists to have a space to celebrate individuality. The common motifs included bright outfits, drawn-on-selfies, and celebrating black expression. 

The term “art hoe” was coined by rapper Babeo Baggins, which was later selected by Mars and Jam as the perfect encapsulation of the ideas they were trying to push. Art, as in the exclusion of all people of all identities. And hoe, as a reclaiming of both the word and the misogyny that comes with it. 

Again the goal of “Art Hoe” was to reclaim a narrative that conveniently left PoC out — that narrative being famous art pieces. Historically, art is a space occupied by white, straight, cisgender individuals. This was a vibrant movement that not only encouraged people to be aware of that exclusion, but to give PoC a chance to be included. 

But with time, the intention behind the movement became lost in reblogs, reposts, and shares. Pinterest exploded with the creators in their bright outfits and drawn-on selfies. Tumblr “copycats” led to feuds within the art hoe community (a history so complicated that I recommend you scout Reddit for a deeper dive, as the primary sources have been deleted.) 

Fairly soon, the aesthetic reached past Tumblr and trickled down into suburban towns filled with angsty teens who were inspired by this bold subculture celebrating art. Thus, a fashion movement was accidentally kickstarted … but its intentions muddied by its virality. 

My thoughts are complicated, as someone who took part in this trend as a high schooler in 2016. Admittedly, I knew little of its roots. I was drawn to its optimism, its 80s apparel, and of course its artsiness. Where I grew up, it was just seen as the “indie” or alternative subculture to what was mainstream in 2016 — which was more or less ripped jeans, cold shoulder tops, and army green bomber jackets.

Needless to say, as the aesthetic continued to grow and grow, it became whitewashed. 

On the other hand, the erasure really disturbs me. The irony that artists of color came together to reclaim a narrative that has erased them, just for them to be erased yet again, is heartbreaking. 


Today’s discussions of “art hoe” calls attention to the original creators, Mars and Jam, who deserve credit where credit is due. Without their keen eye and fresh outlook, we would not have had so much of the pop culture we had. In fact, art hoe continues to inspire more recent trends such as whimsy twee — which persistently uses bright colors, storybook characters, and optimism.

Indie Sleaze

If you were partying in Los Angeles in the mid 2000s, there’s a chance Mark Hunter was nearby. Not because he was eager to get shitfaced. But because he knew he was documenting culture.

Mark Hunter, who is more famously known as Cobrasnake, is a photographer known for his raw, angsty portrayal of LA nightlife. For several years, his photos captured the grimy, glittery reality of partying in underground spaces. 

It was exhilarating because his work stripped away the overly polished professionalism that was popular in the mid 2000s. Remember: this was an era where people wore corporate attire to the club.

Instead, Mark captured photographs of celebrities undone and everyday people in an exhilarating, grungy light. His work was fresh and authentic as much as it was also revealing, grimy, and sleazy.

And think about it: what is more sleazy than photographing celebrities drenched in beer, or sweating their mascara off, or caught mid-blink (or mid-burp) in a crowded, darkened room? This was uncharted territory; celebrities' worst photos were often taken by paparazzi. But at the height of this craze, celebrities began going to parties in hopes that Mark would be there with a camera in hand. It was a way of showing off that they were “with it.” That they were cool.

Mark’s photos were unscripted and unplanned — they were real — which is a quality we now yearn for in our overdone, overedited digitalscape today. 

In the past, your wild party photos may not have ever made it off your film camera (let alone circulate beyond your group of friends). But Mark’s sharp eye for the raw, wild party scene of LA inspired him to launch thecobrasnake.com in 2004, where he uploaded his best shots to his own site. Inspiringly, he is still taking photos, still partying. 

As his photos circulated the web, persistencies in the images began to trickle across digital culture. Things like lensless glasses, muscle tees, and neon nail polish, for example. He didn’t know it, and he humbly credits the people in the photos — but he accidentally shaped Indie Sleaze.

The photos inspired people to start sharing their own party photos to MySpace and Facebook, donning similar styles and poses to the photos Mark had uploaded. Eventually, those styles and poses became so mainstream that it hadn’t occurred to anyone that something else was influencing it. 

Since I was roughly eleven in 2010, I can’t say I had the time of my life in the indies sleaze party scene. But it clearly still had an impact even on my picturesque suburban town. For some reason, I owned a lensless pair of neon green, zebra-print glasses. And I wore them to my middle  school dance more than once …

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I hope you enjoyed this quick roundup of 2000s-2010s fashion movements! If you’re familiar with any other individuals who started a fashion trend, please comment below.

 

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