Ironicwear Rising
“…I thought how difficult a matter of true loyalty is when you’re caught between the bright mockers and the altogether earnest.” - Cassandra at the Wedding, Dorothy Baker
A few months ago, I was at a bar with friends when a small legion of post-Alex G concert attendees solemnly tumbled in, poised to hold court by the front window, naming the lice Peanuts-dancing around on each other’s scalps1. Its leader, the one I’d like to imagine sent the “Alex G?” group-text-heard-round-Bed-Stuy, was donning a NASCAR racing jacket plastered with Mountain Dew insignia and on-brand red and green flames crawling up the arms. I was struck by it. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I couldn’t stop thinking that I knew exactly what the wearer meant by it. Days later I found myself mulling over every time I’ve entered a room hoping the first impression that stuck the landing was, “funny,” or dare I pray, “clever.” Whether consciously or not, I believed my clothing might be of service to that hope, leaning hard on the possibility that I wouldn’t need to speak one word to communicate something specific about myself. While I cannot speak for the Mountain Dew speedster, I have a strong premonition that when they thumbed through their Depop recommendations and saw that loud, gauche garment being upsold by at least $50 bucks, they genuinely laughed before inputting their credit card information.
Lately I’ve been thinking about ironicwear, or rather, a kind of styling that purports an inner intelligence about why something is funny, caked in layers of acerbic satire and embellished with asinine one-liners. Naturally, there’s a Reddit thread for this, r/ironicwear, with a description that reads, “sub dedicated to clothes worn ironically, such as dad-core, uncle-chic, trash-mesh etc.” There are currently 21 members and no posts. (Seeing all those words at once reminds me of this recent piece from The Cut).
The trend itself is nothing new, particularly in the last few years of Y2K 2.0, but I can’t shake the resurgence. It’s like I’m being followed by micro-influencers in shirts that go hard, and we’re all in some version of A Christmas Carol, but the plot has been lost and no point’s been made, mostly because the Ghost of Ironicwear Past is Paris Hilton and she’s having a difficult time telling me anything other than “that’s hot.”
I believe the appeal of ironicwear is, more than anything else, protection–a carefully-curated armor made of jokes. Because you can alter your intention based on the reactions of others, you may evade a certain brand of scrutiny not otherwise afforded to a quirky (or frankly, ugly) fashion choice. If people feel in on the joke, they might laud your garrish sweater, but if they don’t get it, you get to claim irony and move on quickly. It’s all a joke! Influencers of today have adopted the style in what can only be understood as an effort to seem more down-to-earth. Celebrities, they’re (meta-ironic) just like us!
In college, I, a non-celebrity, thrifted a pair of overalls with Tweety Bird stitched over the front pocket, arms outstretched toward a small swarm of dragonflies. While not quite as aggressive as Ms. Mountain Dew’s jacket, I do recall there being a tongue-in-cheek quality to the purchase–sure I thought they were adorable, but I also found them to be hilarious. Why? No one knows!
I don’t know much of anything about fashion, but I do know that it’s quite difficult to hold the line for irony when its muscular opponent, sincerity, is ready to yank the rope. I think it’s easy enough to decide to do, say, or wear something as an ironic bit, and find that over time, that original intention flakes away. Or rather, the irony caramelizes into sincerity. For example, maintaining such a level of facetiousness about saying the word “bestie” aloud would likely rot your insides. (By your insides, I mean my insides, bestie.) At a certain point, you may realize, “I like this and I am going to continue to choose it,” regardless of public opinion, trends, or the limiting beliefs we have about… well, ourselves. I’m sure some people feel that way about their t-shirts that boast “teenage dirtbag” and customized L.L. Bean Boat and Tote canvas bags —that they are in fact an extension of self. Over time, such items may become more familiar, more sentimental, and potentially more “you.” Either way, I am veering hard and fast towards another emotional pep-talk to “just be yourself.” The youth pastor who lives inside me has taken the wheel, sorry!
The first time I saw Nanette (2018), I was pissed. I might’ve even been wearing the Tweety overalls, sitting crossed-legged on a common room couch. Hannah Gadsby had to be all, “I have built a career out of self-deprecating humor and I don’t want to do that anymore. Do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from somebody who already exists in the margins? It’s not humility, it's humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak, and I simply will not do that anymore, not to myself or anybody who identifies with me,” knocking a wrecking ball straight through what I assumed my personality was, who I was certain I was. It’s not humility, it’s humiliation. Ouch. (For the record, I don’t think the Tweety Bird overalls are humiliating, but the character-creating impulse behind them, however slim, is.)
Now, Gadsby’s anecdote isn’t fully applicable to the t-shirts I’m wrestling to understand, but personally, ironicwear has been a symptom of my own self-deprecation disease. It is beyond likely that someone else’s choice to wear something ironically isn’t linked to self-esteem, isn’t a way to further disparage themselves. For many, a trend is a trend. A joke is a joke. Subverting expectations and defying norms is interesting, etc. But when given the choice, I have always gravitated toward comical, stupid clothing. Because it is a conversation piece. Because it maintains or extends an established sense of humor (gross). Because it possibly distracts others from the insecurities I have about my body and general appearance, which I know, is so sad. If it’s any consolation, my own awareness of these reasons has set me loose from needing to wear a clown suit every day — thanks, postmodernism! I didn’t know I had it in me to make a conversation about graphic tees with “HOT PERSON AT WORK” printed across the chest into a downer, but cheers.
Full steam ahead, here’s where it escalates from cheaply made t-shirts waiting to be put to pasture in landfill once their eccentricity wears away: as part of their Winter 22 collection, Balenciaga released a line of purses (90% calfskin, 10% lambskin) that resemble trash bags for $1,790 per pop. I’ll repeat that — in an effort to ride the ironicwear wave, luxury retailer Balenciaga is selling Glad ForceFlex knockoffs for the price of 100+ boxes of the plastic version. I’m sure they wish garbage bag bags were the thing causing so much outrage lately. I include this mostly because it exaggerates the delusional trickle-up effect of fashion, which typically drains a style of all its cool and authenticity, but because ironicwear is steeped in mockery, everyone gets the opportunity to look ridiculous.
Remember when I said my version of A Christmas Carol had lost its plot? Sometimes life imitates art! I don’t have any big, clear, or brilliant observations about ironicwear to land this plane. I can’t help but notice it in the wild, and I know that I’m projecting, but I also know it’s not completely without merit because there are people who dress, in part, to beat others to the punchline (and most of them went to my liberal arts college or its direct competitors!). And what’s more, there is plenty to say about how class, race, gender, body size, level of education, politics, and other points of identity interact with something as ludicrous as a dumb t-shirt with a silly saying on it. I know.
Let this be an introductory piece to an entire series on the global implications of irony/sincerity in the internet age… or not! Let this be a barrier to entry, separating the chronically online from the digitally well. Let this be an invitation to your thoughts on this niche topic of little importance. At the very least, let this be a plea to pretty please stop buying shirts designed to “wear once and burn.”
Big love,
kaylasomething