I’ve always felt that fashion was dictated by the young. That the people who make or break trends are young people. High schoolers, teenagers, young adults- most susceptible to peer pressure and least affected by the way the world stifles creativity as you get older. In New York, it was high schoolers who ruled the aesthetic of the city. When I was a freshman in high school it was American Apparel everything. Every high schooler who was with “it” walked around the city in knee high socks, circle skirts or easy jeans and a cropped top. Even I fell subject to its timeless American appeal. Eventually, American Apparel would go bankrupt because it’s basic styles just could not justify the exorbitant prices for the items; yet at the time, it was the youths of the city that kept them in business.
As I was preparing to leave high school, a new trend began emerging. The trend of thrift stores, of vintage stores. Suddenly I began to see rich girls parading in clothes that made them look anything but that. They wore mismatched articles, old and mishapen, with baggy pants and tight shirts. Florals mixed with patterns, scarves as shirts, scarves in hair, belts and bags that our moms wore before having us. When I left New York for college, I was quickly surrounded by girls who all dressed alike, in clothes that were foreign to me. These were the Suburban Girls, with their suburban fashion. As I progress through college, it seems to me that these Suburban Girls are always just a year or two late to the trends the City Girls make; real life trickle down economics.
Then, I realized it was the youths of the City that dictated fashion. Every time i return home from college I am re-inspired. I am reminded of the bold fashion choices these girls make, the ways they singlehandedly made androgony fashionable, brought back low-rise jeans and baggy pants, mixing 90s fashion with 2020 sexual empowerment. These are the girls that run the world, create fashion from whatever they are given, from what’s around them, from the city that lives within and without them.
So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself even more intimidated by Parisian teenagers. They stand outside of school during lunch or after the day has ended smoking cigarettes, leaning on walls, talking to one another playfully. They don’t wear skinny jeans, they wear big coats, and sneakers, and they hang their cigarettes so casually from their hands. They are effortlessly cool, appearing to come from every decade all at once. In conclusion, I’m scared of the Parisian youths, the ones running the city without people ever even turning their heads to notice.
ringard 