By Rosie Lu
Too often we hear fashion mockingly generalized as “blank NPC style,” and music taste criticized for being “too basic.” But when victims of society’s criticism try to expand their horizons and explore new cultures, we accuse them of “larping.” While exploring lesser-known hobbies can help us discover who we are, “niche” is the new conformity of today.
With how we dress and present ourselves to society comes the problem of performative fashion, as revealed by luxury streetwear cult followings. As the younger generation obsesses more over nicheness as a status symbol, the value of clothing is increasingly determined by its rarity than its craftsmanship. One especially relevant example is Chrome Hearts, an LA-based luxury brand known for its gothic-influenced silver jewelry and rebellious streetwear. Forget the ebony toilet plunger or silver-adorned mousetrap—loyal customers will visit the ominous, dimly lit stores and pay well over $3,000 for an average clothing item. Whether that’s a basic black tee or zip-up hoodie with a logo plastered on it, wearing the label grants membership to this “exclusive club.”
Funnily enough, social media algorithms know exactly how much we value the niche. Enter microtrends: short-lived, very specific aesthetics often labeled with the suffix “-core.” Think about the ribbons and baby pink of balletcore, or the sweater vests and dark trench coats of dark academia. At the beginning of every microtrend, it feels chic to wear specific items and call it an aesthetic. TikTok latches onto these unique styles and distributes them to mainstream users, who adopt the aesthetic because it seems underground and stylish. Unfortunately for microtrend followers, millions of people around the world also share the same thought process, and suddenly fast fashion retailers are all mass-producing clothes for the once-niche aesthetic. Within as little as a week, the very same styles give consumers the “ick,” turning into a basic or even embarrassing phase of their lives. Not only do microtrends produce massive environmental burdens by shrinking the product life cycle, but they also constantly leave us searching for a new way to distinguish our personal style.
A fanatical obsession with the underground and obscure in music is one that we’re perhaps the most familiar with. Whether it’s keeping a secret playlist, naming a random indie artist when asked about music taste, or purposfully avoiding that “basic” song for an Instagram story audio, many of us have encountered a situation where a fear of judgement from society affects music selection—why does it have to be that way? And ironically enough, niche communities try to protect their “nicheness,” gatekeeping information, products, or figurative membership, in fear of going mainstream. Long-time music fans often adopt a “You can’t listen to (insert artist) unless…” attitude when it comes to the new or average listener. Those who unintentionally choose a niche artist when looking for a casual concert experience might find themselves alienated if they fail to recite the artist’s history month by month, memorize the entire discography, or defend their moral views.
So if you will never be well-versed enough for the gatekeepers of the niche, and indulging in the mainstream marks you as a faceless side character, how does the quest for identity end? Ultimately, much of our obsession with the niche is rooted in insecurity—a fear that peers will judge our interests and find them, ironically, un-interest-ing. But culture and the arts should be sources of inspiration and relaxation, not the root of our anxieties. So the solution, perhaps, is to stop treating our hobbies as a measure of individuality. After all, finding people who share our interests simply means we’ve found a community to belong to—maybe less unique, but every bit as meaningful.