Elegance as Erasure

The Death of the BBL, PrettyLittleThing’s makeunder, and the rise of aesthetic fascism. 

Last month, fast fashion giant PrettyLittleThing (PLT) received a serious makeunder. Gone is the neon pink and unicorn branding that once epitomised the Instagram ‘baddie’ era. In its place; fifty shades of beige, serif fonts, and a marketing campaign drowning in buzzwords like “elevated” and “timeless.” Disguised as a fashionable step forward, this shift is more than just a rebrand – it’s a reflection of a broader cultural retreat. If you squint past the abundance of frilly shirts and nude blazers, it’s clear that fashion is firmly echoing wider political and cultural shifts.  PLT’s conservative pivot is part of a larger step away from visibility. Loud styles are being swapped for what TikTok calls ‘quiet luxury,’ ‘clean-girl,’ and ‘old money’ elegance. These ‘styles’ are all examples of fashion’s chilling embrace of conservative values, where aesthetics reject humanness in favor of sanitisation by disguising it as sophistication. We are facing a period of authoritarianism, war, economic disparity, and deep social polarisation. In this climate, aesthetic choices are not just harmless trends, they’re political positions. 

The ‘clean girl’ aesthetic dominates Instagram and red carpets alike; slick buns, neutral tones, elevated basics, and barely-there makeup on barely-there faces. No pattern. No colour. No identity. Marketed as aspirational and effortless, this trend hides a sinister undercurrent of purity politics. ‘Clean’ is a value judgment. Cleanliness has historically been synonymous with whiteness, thinness, and wealth. Social media rewards women who appear delicate, quiet, and expensive – women with access to personal trainers, facialists, gut-friendly diets, and time. ‘Clean girl’ becomes level with ‘good girl’ – a girl who doesn't ask for too much, a girl who doesn’t take up space, a girl who knows her place.The ‘clean girl’/‘old money’/‘quiet-luxury’ trope actively excludes aesthetics that represent characteristics deemed inferior by white Western standards. Blackness, fatness, queerness, the working class. It renders the excess of glam culture – the lashes, the acrylics, the hair, the curves – not just unfashionable, but immoral. ‘Messy’ becomes a threat. ‘Loud’ becomes unruly. Anything not leaning toward white, slim, and wealthy is quietly pushed aside.

We see this too in the cultural rejection of streetwear; particularly Black male coded aesthetics like Jordans, oversized silhouettes, and bold logos. Once at the epicenter of cultural innovation, streetwear is now deemed “immature” and “unsophisticated.” Its roots in resistance and community are being rewritten as juvenile. Instead, we’re seeing loafers, trench coats, tailoring; the wardrobe of the elite. This isn’t just about taste. It’s about restoring a visual order. Once again, Blackness is being forcibly suppressed. We’re even witnessing influencers undergo physical rebrands to appear more aligned with current trends. Brazilian butt lifts (BBLs) are being reversed, with TV personality Chloe Ferry saying that she’s happy to have “got rid.” We’re also seeing celebs encourage audiences to get lip fillers dissolved, opting for a more natural look. The same bodies that once defined Instagram’s ‘femininity’ ideal (for better or for worse) are now being downsized into ‘clean’ mannequins. The hyper-feminine, ethnically ambiguous look that has dominated the past decade is being traded in for a paler, thinner, whiter, and more submissive silhouette; one more palatable to the cultural setting of austerity and restraint.

Take Ariana Grande, for example. Once known for her streetwear-adjacent looks, deep tan, and adoption of aesthetics borrowed from Black and Latina cultures, Grande has recently resurfaced with a near startling makeover. Bleached brows, rosy cheeks, pastel gowns, and a demure look pulled straight from the 1940’s. Her new style has been praised as “elegant” and “grown-up,” but it’s hard to ignore how deliberately it distances her from the visual language of her earlier career. It’s a soft re-entry into whiteness, a pattern we’re seeing repeated across celebrity culture. All of this is happening against a political backdrop of increasing far-right visibility. We’re watching the erosion of reproductive rights, the normalisation of white nationalist rhetoric, and the rise of anti-immigration sentiment in both the U.S and U.K. Donald Trump’s second term, Elon Musk’s conversion of Twitter into a far-right megaphone, Nigel Farage’s quiet entrance into mainstream British politics – this is the terrain we’re now dressing for. The longing for ‘old money’ aesthetics is not just about taste or trends, it’s about old hierarchies. It’s about craving structure in a world that feels unstable. This return to ‘classic’ values is also a return to exclusion. When fashion culture turns away from individuality, it also turns away from the communities embedded in fashion’s history. In the name of elegance, we erase people. 

What remains is a fashion landscape that flatters power and punishes difference. We all become too clean. Too quiet. Too afraid to stand out. Fashion is a mirror, and right now, that mirror reflects a society in retreat – turning away from individuality in favor of a sanitised fantasy of elegance and cohesion. When we see brands like PrettyLittleThing trading colour for ‘clean’, when influencers ditch their Jordans for kitten heels, as we’re encouraged to change our bodies in order to shrink and conform – it’s important to ask; what kind of future are we dressing for?

Article by Hannah Kitty Brownbill

 


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