In her book Big Dress Energy, consultant and fashion psychologist Shakaila Forbes-Bell explains the innate connection between what we wear, what we think, and how we wish to be perceived. Summarizing these theories in an Instagram post for her highly popular @fashionispsychology account, she explains: 

“As humans, our desire to stand out is ingrained because achieving special recognition and validation boosts our self-image and increases our likelihood of being rewarded. Standing out via your clothing is all about gaining validation, and this can boost your confidence and change the way that others interact with you.” 

Hence, the appeal of a “signature look.”  Maintaining a signature look solidifies one’s reputation and status. Think Steve Jobs and Anna Wintour: their respective uniforms send a clear message that reflects a shared mindset: they have devoted their lives to their work. They dress to lead their industries. They radiate sophistication and professionalism.

For many, fashion is a part of their narrative identity, using garments and accessories as symbolic artifacts to convey personal narratives and showcase the cultural community to which they belong. Certain brands or pieces reflect a story, like Dr. Martens boots, which carry a legacy of countercultural rebellion and individuality. Or Sony Cybershot cameras, which connect current consumers with a nostalgic, simpler time in technology.

Before marketing co-opted the term, ‘archetypes’ belonged largely to the domains of psychology and mythology. Carl Jung transformed ‘archetypes’ from a philosophical concept into a psychological framework, which later became a marketing tool. Jung’s Archetype Theory outlines twelve universal archetypes, each symbolizing different motivations and values that come together to form our unique personalities. (Future Commerce used these as the basis for distinct brand archetypes that drove our book of the same name.)

Today, the terms “archetypes” and “aesthetics” carry a more external connotation, highlighting one’s outward presentation and style—what they look like—as a reflection of deeper psychology—what they are.

But as social media has increasingly become a vehicle for self-exploration and cultural belonging, it has sparked an explosive proliferation of hyper-specific archetypes, especially for women. Beginning merely as innocent ways to describe ourselves and our interests and forge our own digital communities, these archetypes have become the marketing fuel for brands to drive commerce. Because in our innate desire to express our personal ideas, identities, and general uniqueness comes an internal urgency to do whatever we need (and buy whatever we need) to belong. 

As a young female consumer, I have personally fallen into the archetype trap and, over time, have felt over-identified and forced into choosing a pre-built aesthetic. 

But new data points to a new reality: shoppers (especially female ones) are pushing back and embracing “anti-trends.” They’re investing in timeless pieces and rediscovering their personal identities. And they’re no longer relying on a family of brands within a specific archetype, but an amalgamation of brands that can blend together and represent what makes them truly unique. 

When Identity Becomes Infrastructure

Identity became commercial infrastructure just as commerce became culture: slowly and subconsciously at first, but then all at once and unapologetically. I personally felt the phenomenon spike during the TikTok boom of 2020. 

That is when the Girlie Turf War began.

Locked inside and bored to death, even those who hadn’t yet indulged in the scroll psychosis of the TikTok feed found themselves downloading the app and diving in headfirst. I’m an example. I, a girl, was nearly instantly clocked and funneled into the algorithm of makeup tutorials and Amazon finds. At the time, the advanced 2020 TikTok algorithm felt almost frantic in comparison to other platforms. It was moving and reacting along with me, learning my preferences at warp speed and advertising to me constantly. 

Over time, doom scrolling began feeling especially draining because I was essentially being asked to consider everything. If I spent a little extra time with a video focused on clean skincare, I was presented with more: more clean brands, clean skincare tips, clean makeup styles, retinoids and tretinoin, natural fiber bedsheets, detox recipes, Amazon Lululemon dupes, and matcha. The overeagerness of my feed attempting to point me toward an archetype to better present me with products, services, clothing, and lifestyle tips made me feel pressured to know exactly what I wanted—and exactly who I was—at all times. 

I couldn’t enjoy a video, vibe, or product once without being offered it incessantly. My algorithm seemed desperate to figure me out — because other users who search “sourdough” might also be on the lookout for tallow skincare, I must have been, too. To escape what felt to me like clutter, I trained myself to train my algorithm. I learned to give time to only things that I knew for certain interested me or aligned with me. I fed the machine exactly what it wanted: Answers.  

These were answers to questions I had never before considered about my personal aesthetic: 

Am I a clean girl? An office siren? Mob wife? Coastal grandma? A beige girl? Purple or pink girl? Cottage core? Old money? Brat maximalist? Gen Z Y2K maximalist? Corporate minimalist? 

For years, it seemed I couldn’t shop without committing to being a certain type of “Girlie.”

But tides are changing. Consumers are individuating, the aesthetic-conscious are maturing, and everyone’s remembering that timelessness is chic again (whew). 

Around three-quarters (73%) of millennials and 64% of Gen Z consumers say they want to invest in more “quality purchases” that will last, according to data from Tink. These consumers also said they’re willing to pay more for brands with positive reputations, illustrating a shift away from what’s trending to what has been created with intention and longevity in mind. 

Commercializing Identity is Cyclical

We’ve long felt a tug-of-war between identity, connection, and policing. While brands can serve as tools to help us discover ourselves and form deeper and more cohesive personal identities, they sometimes tell us who we are so they can sell to us. Back in the Y2K heyday, archetypes were especially strong. Consider yourself an easy breezy girl who likes to swim and surf? Pacsun is for you. On the cheer squad, pretty and popular? You’re an Abercrombie girl. Like punk music and anime? Off to Hot Topic you go. 

But the combination of social media and digital journal platforms like Tumblr accelerated trend cycles and led to a fragmentation of archetypes. Once black-and-white archetypes (see: Indie/Alternative Girl) were painted with shades of grey, leading to new sub-groups like Indie Sleazegirls and Twee Girls. The faster trends moved, the more hasty the identity market became. 

Real-time influencer marketing and brand deals have driven frenzied performative merchandising and performative purchasing. Brands have rushed to create curated collections and marketing campaigns to show that they operate “at the speed of culture.” 

But the brands that have been able to see and adapt to what’s around the next corner aren’t simply chasing trends…they’re creating them. And they aren’t simply finding and engaging with their customer…they’re shaping them. 

"...Sometimes, [customers] don't know what they want. And so [Anthropologie] introduces them to concepts, and then allows them that adoption.”—Candan Erenguc, COO @ Anthropologie. (From The Sociology of Anthropologie on The Future Commerce Podcast)

Market Maturation and Trend Fatigue

If 2025’s summer confirmed anything, it’s that I’m not the only consumer exhausted by trend pressure. Some cite economic hardship as a catalyst for fashion’s changing landscape. If consumers can’t keep up with a twelve-step skincare routine without going into debt, they certainly cannot maintain an over-curated aesthetic. 

Shopping habits this year pointed to more conscious behavior: a renewed appreciation for vintage, long-lasting, and recycled (or upcycled) items; fashion, accessories, and even home decor items that lean into timelessness, legacy, and distinctiveness. Now, girls and women are drifting from one-dimensional aesthetic identities. Instead, they are grabbing from the subcultures that serve them, and mixing and matching them in a way that brings them joy. 

As Gen Z ages up and Gen Alpha continues to rewrite the rules of retail, the old archetypes and personas are starting to feel stale, even obsolete. But maybe we saw this coming. Glossier was a cautionary tale of overdoing the one thing, and watched their market age into more mature and timeless brands, leaving Boy Brow behind. 

Trending fashions, sounds, and archetypes no longer last months. They’re fleeting, fragmented, and sometimes chaoticly concurrent. Vogue Business’s Madeline Schulz noted that while 2024 had a Brat summer and 2023 was all about Barbiecore, 2025 felt “strangely bare.” However, Nikita Walia argued that 2025 has been “less singularly aesthetic than it has been palpably atmospheric.” 

She continued: “We are living through a shift that is too broad, too political, to be captured by one cut of a skirt or a viral sound. Instead, culture is registering the tremors in smaller, more fragmented expressions: the revival of trad aesthetics, the fixation on a particular kind of beauty, the currents of hedonism. Each of these gestures is symptomatic of a larger atmosphere, not the atmosphere itself.”

Indeed, when your daily life consists of navigating rising cost of living, a chaotic job market, and geopolitical tension, you may be focusing less on curating your identity around a singular aesthetic and more so around what brings you joy. And sometimes, that may ladder up to larger trends (versus what is trending) that tie into much larger social and political realities.

Identity as Product: The Commodification of Self

A brand’s message is now, “become a more curated you.” And the vessel to carry this message is no longer a billboard, magazine spread, or any other static and informational platform. It’s a human influencer. 

In 2025, peak style is effortless, especially for consumers who lean into “clean” aesthetics. But effortlessness does not imply scarcity (ask anyone who follows a twelve-step skincare routine). The amount of time one invests communicates just that: that they’re willing to invest as much time and money as required to achieve long-term health and wellness. It’s a signal to others that they are willing to invest in any and all beauty solutions that illuminate their natural aura.

“Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.”—Coco Chanel

Gen Z are becoming more interested in what it means to age gracefully when we’re inundated by plastic surgery accounts sharing social content on the latest injectables and cosmetic procedures. We’re embracing Parisian influence while feeling the pressure of American financial strain and abundance. As a result, makeup overconsumption and hyper-trendy fashions are being exchanged for higher-quality skincare, biohacking, and high-quality basics like trench coats, leather sneakers, and cashmere sweaters. 

The Trendless Solution

As a fatigued gal myself, I believe fellow consumers are seeking longevity over hype and quality over gimmick. The Girlie Turf War reveals just how fragile hyper-specific archetypes and micro trends really are. They burn hot and fizzle out quickly, which makes the entire notion of “embracing what’s trending” feel unreliable. 

Consumers are shopping more consciously, investing in their homes, wardrobes, and skincare with more tact and intention. And the brands that rise above the trend-chasing and embrace authentic storytelling and world building through compelling products and experiences will stand the test of time.