Macro-trends can stick around for years or even decades, and they rarely arrive unannounced. Because of their cyclical nature, they leave clues for eagle-eyed fashion enthusiasts to anticipate the next big thing. 

According to Vogue, it’s official: “Y2K fashion has moved from nostalgic-resurgence status to an inescapable trend.” Gen Z has a lot to do with its comeback—despite the fact that they were too young to experience early-2000s style when it was born. Editorialist reporters have an explanation: young shoppers are "reaching for all the cropped tees, baggy pants, and kitsch accessories their bank accounts can handle” to manage a sentimental longing for simpler times.

In theory, every decade is bound to experience a fashion resurgence sooner or later. But what accelerated the return of Y2K fashion, and why now? Can trends like this one be predicted in time for brands to capitalize on spiking demand?

Some forecasters believe the answer is yes. In 2018, The Cut published an article claiming ‘90s-era low-rise jeans would soon be back in style, citing popular Instagram accounts featuring images of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears in their heyday as proof. According to denim trend forecaster Sam Trotman, “trends are always cyclical and consumers and thought leaders are always in pursuit of the new must-have denim. Of course that means going against the grain, so that could mean the return of the low-rise.” Y2K social media pages quickly gained traction as celebrities began sporting low-rise bottoms, creating the perfect environment for a style resurgence. 

It isn’t surprising, then, that consumers routinely revisit old styles by adding their own twists. According to fashion journalist Sarah Spellings, “every time a decade reinterprets another decade, it takes on its own flavor. You look at the ’80s being inspired by the ’50s, and you can tell the difference between an ‘80s-doing-the-’50s piece of clothing and a ‘50s-’50s piece of clothing.” 

Count on macro-trends like decade-specific and retro-inspired styles to continue circling back around because they’re recognizable enough to draw mainstream attention, powerful enough to influence the masses, and persistent enough to last. While micro trends, which are the product of fast fashion, have a short shelf life, macro-trends can linger for up to a decade—sometimes even longer. 

And these macro-trends rarely arrive unannounced; they leave clues for eagle-eyed fashion enthusiasts to anticipate the next big thing. 

Can trends like this one be predicted in time for brands to capitalize on spiking demand?

Brand leaders are always on the lookout for a “fashion reawakening.” It may seem like apparel trends materialize out of thin air to the untrained eye, but if you look closely you’ll find subtle indicators that enable industry heavyweights to predict what’s coming next. 

This is certainly the case with the sudden pique in Y2K-inspired fashion. Y2K-era revivals such as the 2021 Friends remake introduced Gen Z consumers to TV phenomenons they missed the first time around, and mainstream musicians like Ariana Grande and Olivia Rodrigo reference 2000s performers in their albums. Similarly, the #FreeBritney Movement put the Y2K era front and center: as fans displayed images of Spears at the height of her fame to show their support for the singer, consumers were subsequently introduced to the fashion trends of the past. 

Pop culture and social media are essential to renewing interest in macro-trends that have fallen by the wayside. Young consumers are often introduced to old trends for the first time online, and then use their digital personas to amplify their new finds to a broader audience. For example, Instagram and TikTok accelerated the return of Y2K-inspired fashion by popularizing “indie” style: rainbow colors, plaid skirts, and oversized sweatshirts. 

"The speed of the fashion cycle has accelerated, largely due to social media,” Trendalytics Content Strategist Kristin Breakell told The Zoe Report. “Only weeks after a look appears on the runway, people already have a version of it in their closets and a picture of it on the timeline.” 

Rehashing Past Trends in Pop Culture and Online

The fashion trends of past decades are mysterious and exciting to young consumers—and that makes them even more appealing. Gen Z shoppers go thrifting to immerse themselves in the not-so-distant past and happily comply when Y2K-era celebrities invite them to be nostalgic. 

Even consumers who weren't yet born during on-trend decades can feel wistful for days gone by, whether through their parents, music, television, film, or social media. “Whether it’s fashion publications or celebrities posting throwback images, nostalgic content comprises a big portion of what resonates with viewers these days,” the founder of Nineties Anxiety told Who What Wear. “The goal has always been to evoke that sort of emotional response when you see something that was significant to you at an earlier point in time. I think that now more than ever people have an insatiable desire to look back at or reflect on the past, and are using nostalgic references as a sort of foundation or compass for how or how not to do things in the future.”

Does that mean some trends are more likely to reappear than others? It helps if they have modern-day functionality. Leggings, for example, became popular during the 1980s aerobics fad and remain ubiquitous today because they can take wearers from barre class, to the coffee shop, to the library, to the bar, and back home again. Corsets, on the other hand, aren’t likely to return en masse because they don’t fit into our everyday lives. 

Fashion influencers are usually at the helm of revived trends. Back in 2019, for example, influencers predicted a renewed interest in Renaissance-era puffy sleeves and ‘70s crocheted staples. Sure enough, both trends turned up the following year and remain popular today.

In the words of Carrera Kurnik, Lead Editor of Culture and Consumer Insights at fashion forecasting company Fashion Snoops, “fashion is always a reaction to the environment.” By watching celebrities, social media, and pop culture—and even monitoring emotional changes in the collective consciousness—brands can get a pretty good sense of what’s coming next. Today, it’s Y2K. Tomorrow, anything goes. 

Y2K Is Back. Was This Macro-Trend Always in the Cards?

Today's fashion trends move at the speed of memes, but COVID-19 hit pause, giving us a unique lens into the social psychology of how micro-trends emerge, evolve, and eventually fade away. 

Macro trends tend to stick around for a while, making them easily recognizable to even the most fashion-averse. Think Roaring '20s glam or '90s-era grunge. But then there's micro trends — the fashion moments that go faux pas just as soon as they're en vogue. They're mere blips on a macro trend timeline, germinated in an opaque cloud of celebrity, entertainment, politics, and economics. And in the age of social media, they're moving at a rate that's almost impossible to keep up with.

But pandemic-era lockdowns slowed things down, providing a way to watch, participate in, and study micro trends in a controlled environment. With everyone under the same restrictions and on the same news cycle, consumer behavior was magnified. People turned to influencers and celebrities for quarantine fashion cues and relied on social media for inspiration, leveraging personal creativity and online connection to manage extended periods of uncertainty. The fashions of 2020 were about comfort, both physical and psychological.

In retrospect, 2020 was a rare, concentrated look at how micro trends appear, pick up speed, and leave us. Here’s a look at 10 of the micro trends that defined a year we’ll always remember, and how they came about. 

Given all the time spent at home (and escaping reality by nesting and napping), it’s only fitting that a nightgown-esque dress was one of 2020’s hottest trends. The Nap Dress, introduced by New York-based Hill House in 2019, “became a viral sensation during our collective quarantine due to a combination of canny marketing, genuine consumer enthusiasm and (accidentally) impeccable timing.”

In other words, comfort wasn’t the only driver behind the frock’s success. “Hill House Home’s strategic use of Instagram as a platform for both image-building and selling cannot be overstated,” The Wall Street Journal explains. “Like many direct-to-consumer fashion companies, it buys targeted ads, and uses Shops on Instagram, the platform’s integrated e-commerce experience.” Couple that with massive amounts of consumer-generated content across social media, and the gown's popularity was almost inevitable.

Pop singer Harry Styles appeared on the Today show wearing a color-block patchwork cardigan by British fashion label JW Anderson in early 2020. Soon after, the #HarryStylesCardigan took TikTok by storm. Fans and fashionistas were knitting their own versions of the sweater, so JW Anderson capitalized on the free advertising by sharing the pattern with the public, posting a YouTube tutorial, and inviting consumers to tag the brand in their social media posts. 

At a time when shoppers were stuck at home and looking for ways to keep busy, the sweater served as a fun way to fill their newfound free time. It made such a mark on popular culture that the Victoria and Albert Museum added it to their permanent collection “as an emblem of the DIY creativity sparked by coronavirus lockdowns ... and of a more general move towards more eco-friendly practices in fashion.” 

Consumers continued to embrace DIY fashion by turning to tie dye. The tie dye trend has ebbed and flowed for decades, but its roots run deep: while typically associated with 1960s counterculture, it’s actually been used in countries like India, China, Indonesia, and Nigeria for hundreds, even thousands, of years. 

“There's been a resurgence in craftsmanship and handmade goods over the last several years, popularizing '70s hobbies (macrame, weaving, tie-dyeing), but in a modern way," Stitch Fix color expert Ryen Anderson told Today. The trend also helped ease anxiety amid widespread uncertainty: “The appeal of tie-dye is also metaphysical. There’s a powerful, if slightly ineffable, emotional charge from engaging with fabric and color. It soothes us and restores us.” 

Remember the Juicy Couture track suits of the ‘90s? Monochrome sweatsuits returned with a vengeance as comfort and convenience became priorities amid COVID-19 lockdowns. Refinery29 described the trend as “a comfy PJ-adjacent look that's appropriately conducive for wearing during a day full of important Zoom meetings.”

The number of American employees who worked from home nearly doubled in 2020, so leisure wear was certain to spike. Why did consumers gravitate toward the monochrome sweatsuit, in particular? Celebrities and influencers — like Saturday Night Live star Aidy Bryant and Instagram’s Director of Fashion Partnerships Eva Chan — shared photos of themselves clothed in Entireworld and other leisurewear brands. 

In late 2020, TikTok was inundated with images of button-down shirts, tweed skirts, and knitted sweater vests straight out of Cambridge University’s hallowed halls. Known as dark academia, the trend was the stuff of lofty dreams: “Dark academia captures a kind of nostalgia for a life which is yet to be lived — dreams of being an art history student at Oxbridge or studying classical literature at Harvard,” explains Refinery29. 

The timing of this micro trend is also important; it gained traction in the fall, a season that’s associated with back-to-school, checkered patterns, and neutral tones. The romanticized image of school life evoked by dark academia became even more appealing as students were sent home from their studies in droves. 

Somewhat controversial early 2000s fashion statement Crocs became mainstream in 2020. According to W Magazine, which published a Cultural History of Crocs, “it’s often said that tough times accelerate trends, and that very same concept applies to Crocs.”

Social media played a big part in this trend’s resurgence, too. One expert told W, “Referring to the waist-down ironic style, people post different angles of the camera and play with formal and non-formal wear. The highly visual aspect of Crocs—its materials and colors and a significant symbol of humor—has amplified the [conversation].” In other words, we all needed a laugh in 2020. 

Nostalgic nineties trends returned in 2020 as Gen Z consumers discovered Y2K styles for the first time. The hashtag #90sfashion has more than 4.6 million posts on Instagram, where emblematic ‘90s apparel like pleated miniskirts and oversized blazers appear en masse. According to PureWow, we’ll be seeing ‘90s bike shorts — cousin to the ever-popular and functional leggings — linger eternally, while the ‘90s animal print revival born of Tiger King waned before 2020 was even out.  

Another ‘90s trend that returned in 2020 was the bucket hat. Originally used by fishermen and later immortalized by the movie Clueless, Cosmopolitan called the hat “THE secret weapon to instantly turning any outfit into a winner.” Celebrities, fashion editors, and influencers of all kinds donned the accessory over the course of the year, but one has to wonder whether lockdown-level access to hairstylists had an impact on its sudden rise to popularity. What better way to conceal those bothersome roots?

Victorian-style sleeves started gaining popularity in 2018, but didn’t explode until designers began experimenting with various puffy styles. In July 2020, Vogue reported that “the puff-sleeve trend is here to stay.” While Victorian sleeves date back centuries, this trend is likely to stick around because its timeless appeal outlives many other micro trends. Puff sleeves never completely disappear from the public consciousness, so their commercial traction is especially strong. 

Jumpsuits were primarily worn as workwear by factory employees and airline pilots before they made their 1960s debut in Vogue. In 2020, the comfort and ease of jumpsuits attracted a new generation of fans adjusting to their new normal. As celebrities like Eva Longoria and Margo Robbie “flaunted their figures” in jumpsuits, and New York Magazine published a guide to “jumpsuits for tall women,” women put jumpsuits to work once again. 

Micro trends inevitably wax and wane, but in their wake they sweep up fandoms across the globe. Modern brands aren't just tasked with keeping up — they need to set the stage. We've long waved goodbye to 2020, but the lessons learned are unforgettable: if you can read the micro moment, you can win the macro trend. 

Psych 2020: What We Learned About Comfort and Chaos in the Year of the Micro-Trend

The pandemic made instantaneous, widespread changes to how we do business. For the apparel industry, it highlighted just how sorely a record-scratch moment was needed. 

Most big changes happen gradually. Heads go gray strand by strand. Careers are built in fits and starts. Colors and hem lengths fade in and out of fashion. But pandemics tend to change that—including COVID-19, which prompted all-encompassing and almost instantaneous changes in how we live and how we conduct business. For the apparel manufacturing industry, the overhaul was long overdue.

For fashion, the pandemic brought to light an industry that was in dire need of change—and a two-speed system where the winners were getting comfortable with winning and the losers were being choked for oxygen. 

At the top of the food chain, giants were thriving. Consolidation and acquisition sprees created multi-headed conglomerates like LVMH, Kering, and Inditex. From fast fashion to luxury, these champions were leveraging economies of scale to create faster, slicker, shinier experiences that the little guys just couldn’t keep up with. 

For those smaller brands, the status quo meant one step forward and two steps back. Promising young designers like Rodarte, Prabal Gurung, and Proenza Schouler grew fast, but their ambitions were thwarted when it was time to go from critical darlings to serious competitors industry behemoths like Chanel and Dior. How can you compete with the Grand Palais on a shoestring budget? 

The prospects for innovation in the startup space weren’t much better. Every new mass-market brand seemed to have a sustainability angle and consumers grew dubious. Leaders like Everlane and Reformation stumbled through management scandals and delayed IPOs. Silicon Valley startup culture could attract first-round funding, but the jury was out over whether it could build lasting brands. 

Pre-Pandemic: The Stagnating Status Quo 

The total shutdown of spring 2020 was the tipping point. Instead of gradually evolving landscapes, fashion was faced immediately with an empty, endless horizon—and no indication of when it would stop. Once the initial shock wore off and the cheery “See you in two weeks!” signs came down from the shop windows, the real work began. The industry didn’t have a choice. And the response would come to follow a three-step process.

The quiet of COVID-19 gave people at all levels the space to evaluate what was important. When suddenly nobody could buy anything, the entire act of buying was called into question. What does shopping look like in a world where it’s not possible? 

Idle hands made for big plans. Zoom lines lit up. C-suites finally had the long, hard strategy discussions that they had been putting off for years. Some teams found that they worked better at a distance, where the only thing to distract them was the occasional sink full of dishes. 

Suddenly, a whole new dynamic emerged where everyone was on the same playing field. Multi-million dollar fashion shows and event spectacles were no longer possible. Instead, compelling (and viral) videos and social content became table stakes.

Fashion's top creative minds were not content with lookbooks shot in masks. As it became clear that lockdown would last, brands got creative and upped their digital marketing game, especially through video. Smaller brands like Warp + Weft engaged directly with homebound audiences by reaching out to them on social media—notably, Instagram Live sessions that were part panel discussions and part heart-to-hearts. The pandemic urged brands to connect with consumers through empathy, kindness, and much-needed distraction.

Fendi and Valentino made waves online with lavishly produced set pieces that were more than just fashion shows sans audiences. Jeremy Scott at Moschino bested the field with a puppet show fashion film that brought spectacle into the realm of the surreal.

The crisis also set off a new wave of social awareness. Some established brands missed an opportunity to get creative, but others got innovative and put their money where their mouth is. For example, Allbirds gave away their wool sneakers for free to healthcare workers and Tiffany & Co. donated $1 million to COVID-19 relief efforts as well as started an employee donation-matching program. 

Finally, Covid-19 exposed the vulnerabilities in the global supply chain like nothing has before. As over-ordered merchandise stood stagnant in shuttered stores, the urgency of adopting flexible sourcing methods became clearer than ever. 

It’s clear that the fashion industry is never going back to its pre-pandemic stasis, so the brands that embrace change and create their own culture are those that will thrive. 

Customers are ready to spend, but how can brands capitalize on it? First, remember the lessons of the pandemic. Customers won’t forget lockdown anytime soon and neither should retailers. Two new values rule the day: sustainability and accountability. 

It’s clear that the fashion industry is never going back to its pre-pandemic stasis. The brands that embrace change and create their own culture are those that will thrive. 

The pandemic exposed how deeply connected we are to the planet. Consumers want to see real action on sustainability not as a nice-to-have, but as a matter of survival. A responsible, lower-waste apparel industry is one of the best places to start. 

As for accountability, lip service doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s important to show corporate commitment not just through foundations and charity programs, but in the very structure of a brand’s business. One way of doing that is by embracing innovative supply chain models that cut down on waste and have traceable, vertically integrated structures. 

Looking back, it’s clear that smaller, more nimble companies were best-positioned to adapt to the ever-shifting conditions. Now, bigger organizations are learning from these setbacks and doing what they can to exploit new technology, move quickly, and get creative.  

The Fashion Industry Needed to Change—COVID Gave It No Choice

Athleisure that tracks your vitals. Virtual reality apparel. And jeans that help you find your way back to your hotel. The future of fashion is here—and it's built for utility.

Ever wish you could use your pants to check your credit score? No? Well, put it on your list, because it’s only a matter of time until you can do just that—as well as watch Netflix, take medical exams, and submit job applications.

Six years ago, a World Economic Forum study predicted that 10% of people would be wearing clothing that connects to the Internet by 2025. And the study was hardly far-fetched. Since then, three generations of smart textiles have emerged: passive, active, and ultra. First-generation garments featured discreet wiring sewn directly into the pieces. Google and Levi’s, for example, collaborated to build a Bluetooth-connected denim jacket that wearers can use to get directions, change songs, and answer calls. 

Developers leading the second, “active” generation of smart clothing weave sensors directly into fabric, enabling the collection of real-time biometric data. The broader implications of this health-focused wearable technology could be life-changing, and even life-saving. 

Diabetes-focused startup Siren Care, for example, created Siren Socks to detect potential health issues early and accurately, greatly decreasing the odds of amputation. Sensors are woven directly into the yarn itself, yet the socks are still machine-washable and don’t even require charging. Owlet Smart Socks for babies come in smaller sizes but pack an equally impactful punch. Designed to provide peace of mind for parents, the socks monitor a baby’s heart rate and oxygen levels to alert caretakers of potential issues. Apparel brand Athos even makes athleisure pieces that monitor “muscle activity, heart rate, calorie expenditure, and performance during rest time and active time.”

Although Google eventually cut its losses and left its failed computer-eyeglass hybrid Google Glass in the Land of Lost Tech, its successor Snap Inc. still introduced wearable concept Spectacles. After taking an almost $40 million loss, it scrapped its direct-to-consumer strategy and now partners exclusively with AR creators to “fuse fun and utility through immersive AR.” 

The global gaming industry’s astronomical growth is creating the ideal landscape for wearable tech to thrive by leveraging the potential for immersive, realistic digital experiences. The industry saw a 12% increase in players in 2020 and is expected to grow at 12% over the next five years. Still, virtual reality headsets have already permeated gaming culture in a major way: 70% of consumers who own VR headsets have purchased a game on it, and 77% say they want more opportunities for VR social engagement. 

Japanese brand Teijin took virtual reality clothing to the next level with its full-body Synesthesia Wear. The garment imitates physical touch in virtual reality and monitors players’ movements through a “specially designed fabric that conducts electricity and communication signals, letting users place the battery and haptic modules wherever they choose.”  

Combine touch-based virtual reality apparel with gaming conventions like PAX, and there could be a booming market for branded gaming outfits. Real-life Agent Peely skins could be here before we know it. Get into it, Fortnite fans.

The future of high-tech textiles lies in fiber-level, functional yarns. The Advanced Functional Fabrics of America (AFFOA) is spearheading these developments, reimagining fabrics as a service rather than a product and creating garments that “see, hear, sense, communicate, store and convert energy, regulate temperature, monitor health, and change color.” The organization is backed by the US military and has secured investments from several large corporations. Enhanced military attire has been fodder for comic books and anime for decades, but its real-life introduction might be closer than we think.

Fashion 3.0 concepts might seem like overkill in a culture already dominated by screens, but fashion trends based on function rather than form tend to stick around. From sweat-wicking athletic wear to no-iron dress shirts, once we get used to a function, it's hard to go back. As lifestyles become increasingly tech focused, it's only natural that humans will look for more ways to integrate essential digital activities into an assortment of clothing and accessories. 

Fashion 3.0: The Multifunctional Apparel of the Future

Gone are the days of afterthought plus-size collections relegated to a dusty corner. Customers are embracing a new guard of brands that view sizing as it should be seen: an all-encompassing spectrum. 

Fashion is more than what to wear. It holds a lens up to culture, reflecting everything from art and politics to the economy. But there’s one area where fashion is failing to uphold its role as a mirror of society: sizing. By catering primarily to the thin body type that has dominated fashion imagery for decades, apparel brands have sidelined the majority of people. And, in doing so, the industry is missing out on significant revenue: in 2019, the "plus-size" apparel market was worth $9.8 billion. 

Most of us are used to walking into a store and seeing a limited size range offered: 0 to 14, or XS to XL (known as a “straight” size range). Skewed towards smaller bodies, this range has othered many consumers. Making matters worse, when retailers do carry larger sizes, the selection is shockingly limited—and segregated into a designated area called "plus-size," a term that carries serious stigma for many consumers. Others don’t give up any floor space for these sizes at all,  only offering them online and excluding an entire demographic of in-store shoppers. 

The push for better size representation (and better visual representation in editorials and campaigns) is the result of decades of work by activists. The National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance (NAAFA) was founded in 1969 to protect rights and improve the lives of those who are discriminated against based on size. Numerous other groups followed. They put in the groundwork, writing manifestos and picketing the White House. With the birth of social media, racially diverse set of fat-acceptance and body-positivity influencers could suddenly build platforms without traditional gatekeepers standing in the way. 

As bigger bodies began to share in the fashion spotlight, brands began to wake up to the fact that there was an audience waiting for stylish clothes in larger sizes. For those who made the investment, it was worth it. The "plus-size" fashion category in the US is growing at nearly twice the rate of the overall apparel market, according to an NPD report. In 2016 alone, US sales of "plus-size" women’s apparel rose by 6%, while the total clothing market grew by just 1.6% that year, according to the US Bureau of Economic Analysis.

In the scramble to produce a broader size range, some brands are skipping the necessary fitting, sampling and redrafting process needed to ensure a well-fitting garment. The result? A skeptical consumer base faced with inconsistent sizing and poor fits, unable to hit the buy button with confidence. 

Inaccurate sizing is more than just a consumer letdown—it's also an environmental issue, particularly with online shopping. Between 2014 and 2019, ecommerce returns grew by 95%. Given that 5 billion pounds of returned goods are landfilled each year in the US, and that size is cited as the number-one reason for returns, getting sizing right is imperative. In the UK, 37% of consumers say incorrect fit is the key reason for making a return, while 91% are confused by inconsistent brand sizes. Globally, over half of shoppers purposely purchase items in multiple sizes and return duplicates to mitigate the hassle of navigating poorly fitted garments. 

Given that 5 billion pounds of returned goods are landfilled each year in the US, and that size is cited as the number-one reason for returns, getting sizing right is imperative.

Some brands are determined to walk the talk and get the sizing issue right. Universal Standard, a brand that produces in sizes 00-40, grades between every size. “We started using fit models across our entire size range whenever developing a new garment,” the founders told Vogue Business. The brand also has an updated sizing system, placing a size 18-20 as a medium, in line with US averages. Ethical activewear brand Girlfriend Collective offers sizes XXS to 6XL and shows its products on an array of different bodies, and Loud Bodies runs from XXS to 10XL.

Not all brands are quite so proactive or thorough. In order to produce more sizes, many simply follow the standard procedure of grading. In most cases, a sample size (usually a 2, 4, or 6) is graded using a formula or specification sheet to make a pattern bigger. The issue with this approach, however, is that it doesn’t adjust the cut of the garment to account for different body shapes. Imagine enlarging something on a photocopier—that’s the effect you get when grading apparel. By the time you’ve graded something from a size 6 to a size 18, the original design can be completely distorted. 

For manufacturers, there are further obstacles to cross when it comes to introducing size-inclusive garments, one being the issue of fabric usage. Larger sizes use more fabric, and many brands that are willing to make the investment factor this into their pricing. However, some have passed the cost onto the consumer in the form of a so-called "fat tax." In fact, in 2018, UK retailer New Look was called out for charging up to 15% more for its Curve range. There are other points to account for: in some cases, looms are not designed to make larger knits, and in others technicians aren’t trained to take "non-standard" measurements into account.

The future of inclusive sizing means no separation, no extra costs, no guesstimated fits, and no manufacturing shortcuts. Just one collection, designed for every body.

However, technology is emerging to address these shortfalls and improve sizing. Euveka, for instance, has created scalable robot mannequins to allow designers to fit every body type imaginable. So far the company has reduced returns by 70% for clients in larger size ranges, a significant improvement on the 40% reduction-rate for "straight" sizes. 3DLook, which uses two photos of a shopper to determine what size fits them best, has reduced returns for 1822 Denim by 48%, and Bodi.Me, which creates a sizing algorithm for each new garment, has reduced returns to less than 3% for size-inclusive startup Curves with Purpose.

For other brands, a low-tech, common-sense approach prevails. Torrid, which reached a $2.5 billion valuation after its IPO, simply eschews grading and instead employs fit models for every size it develops. 

The message is clear: previously excluded consumers are ready and waiting to spend on well-designed, well-fitted clothes. This market will not be won over by a token line or a mini collection. By making the shift from offering plus size to investing in inclusive sizing, some brands are excelling. The future of inclusive sizing means no separation, no extra costs, no guesstimated fits, and no manufacturing shortcuts. Just one collection, designed for every body.

We’ve Seen Fashion’s Future—and It’s Size-Inclusive

How did fast fashion happen? It's easy to blame today's trend-chasing culture, but the seeds were planted centuries ago. 

There used to be two fashion seasons: fall/winter and spring/summer. Now, there are 52. Thanks to the rise of mass manufacturing, customers can get the latest fashions weekly—and very cheaply.

But we’re starting to pay the price for this inexpensive clothing. Fast fashion manufacturers exploit underpaid labor and perpetuate a widespread culture of human rights abuse. The industry is also responsible for 10% of the world’s carbon emissions, contributing to massive landfills packed with non-biodegradable textiles and oceans full of microplastics. According to the World Bank, making a single pair of jeans requires nearly 1,000 gallons of water, and petroleum is becoming an increasingly popular ingredient in fast-fashion textiles. 

Many modern-day consumers believe discarding and replacing a garment is cheaper and easier than repairing it. Figures note that 41% of 18-25 year olds feel pressured to wear a different outfit every time they go out, and people in the UK spend about £2.7 billion on summer clothes they’ll only wear once. 

How did this all happen? It’s easier to blame consumers for their shopping choices than it is to recognize the centuries of flawed economic and geopolitical climates that breed overconsumption. Let’s take a look at five key moments in the history of manufacturing to understand how we got here. 

Eli Whitney is best known for inventing the cotton gin, but he actually got the idea from an enslaved man known only in history as “Sam.” It was originally created to separate green cotton seeds from the fluffy boll, a time-consuming task Sam took on using just a comb. The supremacy of the cotton gin was cemented when farmers, reluctant to pay for the use of Whitney’s cotton gins, made their own instead. These developments led to the expansion of cotton production throughout the Antebellum South—and the proliferation of Black slavery. According to the U.S. National Archives, 80,000 African people were enslaved between 1790 and 1808, mainly to grow and pick cotton, and production doubled every decade after 1800.

Several other Industrial Revolution–era inventions also contributed to the meteoric growth of textile manufacturing, revolutionizing production by developing new ways to spin and transform cotton. The appetite for cotton has now slowed, but the US remains the third-largest producer of cotton, after India and China, and the world’s biggest cotton exporter.

Mass production was invented many centuries ago and popularized during the first two Industrial Revolutions, but it didn’t hit its stride until factories were electrified in the early 1900s. This development accelerated the manufacturing of cars, ship parts, military equipment, and household items such as mason jars. 

However, the production boom caused by World War II changed apparel manufacturing for good. Until then, most clothing was handmade—first by the wearers themselves or local tradespeople, then by factory workers in sweatshops. These sweatshops were known for the low pay and terrible working conditions that made them health and fire hazards. 

Company owners searched for ways to generate greater profits when unionization efforts and the Great Depression threatened their financial stability. This led them to the progressive bundle system (PBS), which Peter Doeringer and Sarah Crean called “the most efficient mass production technique” in their 2005 paper Can Fast Fashion Save the U.S. Apparel Industry?. “It was developed during World War II when product variety was severely limited,” they wrote. “It is based on such extreme specialization and division of labor that any single task takes only seconds to perform and the total labor content of a garment is measured in minutes.”

The wheels of fast fashion were now in motion, and this development was a significant contributor to the consolidation of garment manufacturing and the growth of large-scale producers. 

In 1966, a napkin and toilet paper company developed a fashion icon: the paper dress. Priced at $1 and made mostly of paper with a bit of rayon scrim for durability, Scott Paper Co. sold 500,000 units in just eight months. 

The original paper dress led to the proliferation of paper clothing: bell bottom jumpsuits, aprons, vests, evening gowns, and even bikinis. As Time wrote in 1967, “for a country already accustomed to throw-away cups, plates, napkins, and diapers, paper clothing seemed only a logical next step.”

That wasn’t the only reason paper clothing caught on. Remember, this was the 1960s, a decade characterized by great social and political upheaval. Young people embraced counterculture and championed art, rock ‘n’ roll, expressive fashion, and psychedelic drugs like no generation before them ever had. “The fashion industry appealed to this variety of movements with novel, expressive fads,” notes a Cornell University blog post. “In order to keep up with the variety of ephemeral experimental trends, designers created paper clothing, which could be quickly and inexpensively produced and consumed.”

While the paper dress fad was short-lived, its ephemeral, instant-gratification quality has grown to define consumer culture. 

The 1960s: The Paper Dress and the Rise of Disposable Clothing

Doering and Crean noted that the apparel industry accounted for nearly one in 10 manufacturing jobs in 1980. By 2020, only 90,000 Americans worked in apparel manufacturing. This shift was accelerated when large-scale manufacturers started outsourcing production to the developing and underdeveloped world beginning in the late 1970s and early 1980s. 

Outsourced manufacturing was largely driven by the idea of “core competency.” Brands would focus on their specialities and outsource the tasks for which they did not have in-house expertise, paying foreign workers far less than domestic employees. They were buoyed by the political and economic climate of the time: the economic crisis of the 1980s, bookended by the rise of neoliberalism and market deregulation. And, importantly, the supply chain developed then still greatly influences how most clothing is made today. 

Today, ecommerce is a $5 trillion industry, but it’s easy to forget the first Internet sale was made only 27 years ago. That’s a year before Amazon and eBay were even founded.  

At the time, there were about 3 million computers in the world capable of connecting to the internet. However, the ability to pay online hadn’t yet been figured out. Those developments occurred in the early 2000s and have since created the ecommerce titans of the fast fashion industry. The rise of smartphones and social media, particularly visual apps such as Instagram, have further accelerated the pace of fashion trends and the adoption of mobile shopping.  

Today, in the second decade of the 21st century, the growth trajectory of ecommerce far outpaces that of conventional retail. As the BBC notes, we’re on track to discard 150 million tons of non-biodegradable textiles a year by 2030—a figure causing environmentalists to sound an urgent alarm. 

But there’s good news: Today, largely out of necessity, the fashion industry is undergoing a revolutionary transformation. The pandemic forced retailers to revamp their supply chains and produce more thoughtfully, efficiently, and locally overall. Mass customization and textile recycling are growing practices as consumers become more invested in corporate responsibility and ethics. Though only time will tell where this new path leads, it’s a promising direction.

5 Key Inventions That Explain the Explosion of Fast Fashion 

Given an unexpected supply of free time, millions of people started making, remaking, mending, and upcycling clothing during the pandemic. Was it a random side effect of boredom, or will this trend have legs for the long haul? 

The COVID-19 quarantine left many people with an unexpected issue: a sudden surplus of time. So they turned to making. Some made sourdough bread. Some made art. And others made clothing: they crocheted, embroidered, knitted, stitched, wove, and upcycled. Global craft platform LoveCrafts saw their tutorial guide visits rise by as much as 8704%, while We Are Knitters, which sells yarn, patterns and craft kits, experienced weekly sales increases of 75%.

The pandemic was the unexpectedly perfect catalyst for making and the tactile, emotional investment it inspired. Left idle by lockdown measures, a new generation of makers found the time and the tools to defeat overconsumption and take a more measured, mindful approach to their possessions. But will this approach stand the test of time?

While living through a pandemic may be a new experience for most, turning to crafting in a time of crisis is nothing new. WWI veterans suffering from PTSD were prescribed embroidery therapy. WWII saw the proliferation of knitting for victory. And the Kitchener Stitch, a technique for seamless toe joins in socks, is said to have been inspired by Herbert Kitchener, British Secretary of State for War from 1914 to 1916, to stop soldiers suffering from blisters caused by home-knitted socks.

During quarantine, people took to making masks for loved ones and health care workers to keep them safe. Free patterns and tutorials were shared as people took to their sewing machines to do their part.

Not all making was borne out of necessity, however. Many took to crafts to fill their days, occupy their attention, and distract them from the crisis on their doorstep. The link between crafts, improved mental health, and mindfulness has been explored increasingly over recent years. Knitting has been proven to help manage anxiety in eating disorders and boost feelings of happiness, while textile crafts have can increase self-esteem and wellbeing in those with depression and other health conditions.

Sharing the finished products—or the process—of their makes also proved a positive experience for many, helping to build a social community when in-person interaction was a no-go. True to that, the #quarantinecrafts hashtag has been used on over 100,000 Instagram posts as people share embroidered mandalas, fresh-off-the-loom weaves, upcycled quilt jackets, crocheted characters, and cross stitch art.

Prominent makers also helped bring makers together, creating challenges and encouraging people to share their results under specific hashtags. Katie Jones held a weekly crochet along using the hashtag #QuarantineCAL. Each week, Jones guided people through the process of making a different style of granny square which could eventually be stitched together into a blanket, cushion, or jumper. Scandinavian knitwear and textile designers Arne and Carlos held a weekly knit along, the results of which came together in a "hug me later" cushion. Abbie from DIY Fashion Rebel created a Facebook group for all the people taking part in her 5-day sewing challenge, and thousands of people joined in with the quiltalong hashtag.

Even brands got involved. Alexander McQueen taught its audience how to make paper dolls, patchwork, and print onto fabrics in their McQueen Creators series; sustainable brand Christopher Raeburn released weekly creative tasks complete with free patterns under its Raeburn At Home initiative; designer Edward Crutchley released a free pattern for a one-piece robe; and Liam Hodges released the design for an “Isol8” rug made from recycled T-shirt yarn.

There's no denying the skills that were once commonplace in Western society have been lost among newer generations. Knowing how to sew, mend, knit, and make were once a given, but a 2017 survey found that 1 in 6 people were unable to replace a button on an item of clothing.

Quarantine bridged this skills gap—somewhat—but will it last? What will the long-term impact be? It’s still too early for a definitive answer, but there are some clues as to how it’s going.

UK fabric dye company Dylon saw sales in certain colors rise 10% in the first year of COVID-19 (no doubt in part due to the tie-dye craze of early quarantine). It shared that its new customers are mainly those aged 18-25, demonstrating engagement from a younger demographic. Etsy, meanwhile, more than doubled its revenues to $1.7 billion in 2020, indicating a shift towards making for commerce as well as pleasure. 

Knowing how to sew, mend, knit, and make were once a given, but a 2017 survey found that 1 in 6 people were unable to replace a button on an item of clothing.

Furthering its stamp on crafting, Etsy acquired second-hand darling depop for $1.6 billion, a platform that’s acted as a breeding ground for Gen Z upcycling. And, as revealed by thredUP in its resale report, 51% of consumers are more opposed to eco waste than before the pandemic.

Certainly, there’s no "right time" for a pandemic, but the return to making struck just at the right moment for it to have significant cultural cut-through, as eco-consciousness among younger generations reaches fever pitch. And while the initial boom will likely slow, it’s clear that making has become an indelible part of life for many.

From mass market to ultra-luxury, brands are getting into video games — quite literally — to engage their existing audience and attract a new one. But how did these seemingly disparate genres become unlikely friends?

Wired published a report on what it coined the “virtual fashion revolution," an outreach program luxury fashion brands are implementing to reach Gen Z and millennial consumers and remain culturally relevant through online gaming. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, about 214 million U.S. consumers played video games for an hour or more every week, and reports indicate a 45% spike in time since stay-at-home orders originally took effect. What’s more, women now account for nearly 50% of gamers. 

As consumers invest more time, energy, and, yes, cash in their digital lives, it makes sense that brands would mirror this shift. For companies targeting younger consumers in particular, gaming presents an opportunity to connect with and engage potential buyers. Just as brands are drawn to social media for its capacity to showcase products and help build relationships with customers, they’re now investing in gaming. The result? Cutting-edge business and marketing partnerships aimed at deepening the relationship between apparel brands and their fans. 

There has always been a strong link between fashion and identity. Consumers leverage clothing, style trends, and labels to help them visually express their personalities and unique aesthetics. In many ways, the same can be said of gaming. Some psychologists describe the phenomenon of using games, and the avatars within them, to explore their identities as “the me I want you to see.” From how they look to how they dress, avatars become a stand-in for the players themselves. 

Consider the multiplayer shooter game Fortnite, where avatars and the “skins” they choose to play with can display both the player’s personal style and how long they’ve played the game. Like clothing, most skins must be purchased, and some have a limited shelf life. And just like apparel in the physical world, avatars and skins can signal a knowledge of culture and trends — something young consumers are excited to put on display. When you pare these cultures down, the cachet of wearing a designer label isn’t so different from playing a game using a coveted skin. 

Identity Expression in Fashion and Game Culture

No wonder some apparel brands have started partnering with gaming companies to create customized skins. In 2019, Moschino partnered with Electronic Arts’s life simulation game The Sims to create a “pack” of clothing and furniture items that could be used by Sims characters within the game. Some could even be purchased in real life at Moschino boutiques. “I love the idea of being able to imagine, design and bring to life a world of individual personas with The Sims universe,” Jeremy Scott, Creative Director of Moschino, has said. 

Gamers experienced something similar with Animal Crossing: New Horizons, of which manufacturer Nintendo has sold more than 32 million units. Marc Jacobs created a digital-only clothing collection expressly for the characters in the game, while designer Sandy Liang held an exclusive pop-up sale of her digital clothing items. Even Valentino designed 20 custom looks for use within Animal Crossing, and Net-a-Porter worked with designer Isabel Marant to create styles that can be worn within the game or purchased for use in the real world. 

We’re seeing a similar trend in esports, a form of gaming that pits teams of players against each other while audiences look on. In 2019 and 2020, Gen.G Esports partnered with Puma to clothe an online squad of League of Legends players. Together, esports and gaming generate an estimated $159.3 billion in revenue annually. 

With some well-known luxury labels paving the way, we can expect to see more companies team up with game developers to increase their exposure among younger consumers and build brand loyalty. 

Both limited-edition digital fashion collections and gamified shopping experiences can generate interest among prospective buyers and existing fans. For example, Balenciaga chose to launch its Fall 2021 collection via an online game called Afterworld: The Age of Tomorrow, which is set in a dystopian Balenciaga store and comes complete with a Lookbook of avatar fashions. Of the strategy, GQ writes, “...a video game, it turns out, is a far more immersive way to bring your shopper into your world than by selling them a baseball cap with a logo on it.”

What’s Next for Brands in the Gaming World?

Until now, new products and custom-designed fashion items have primarily been featured within games themselves — but video games can help apparel companies boost product sales in the physical world as well.

Mobile gaming is another frontier we’re likely to see apparel brands continue to explore. For example, Kenneth Cole teamed up with social game developer Zynga to launch its first mobile game, which allows players to dress avatars in LGBTQIA+ Pride–themed fashions. According to reports, High Heels! was downloaded more than 60 million times in its first five months. Aside from providing access to a large audience of potential customers, customized games like this one enable brands to showcase their products in a fun, interactive way. 

Until now, new products and custom-designed fashion items have primarily been featured within games themselves — but video games can help apparel companies boost product sales in the physical world as well. Uniqlo recently introduced a line of League of Legends-inspired clothing that the company describes as “a must-have for League fans, highlighting some of the game's most iconic champions and elements.” League of Legends is played by upwards of 115 million users every month. 

Another area to watch? Influencer marketing. Back in 2019, fashion industry trade journal WWD reported on collaborations between fashion brands, gaming influencers, and esports organizations. Since then, brands including Louis Vuitton, Adidas, Nike, and K-Swiss have clothed esports gamers and influencers (or their avatars) in an effort to keep their merchandise top-of-mind for the millions of gamers glued to their screens. 

What’s next for fashion and gaming? Considering how much closer the relationships are getting between the two genres, the new revenue generation models they create may move well past the collaboration stage — and spawn a whole new industry. 

How Fashion and Gaming Became a Match Made in Heaven

Social media influencers helped fuel the rise of disposable fashion. Now they're making a turn toward sustainability, but is it too late to crush the monster they created? 

If you search “haul” on YouTube, you’ll find an endless library of shoppers displaying enormous armfuls of brand-new clothing.

Social media personalities started developing distinct “personal brands” to differentiate themselves from other content creators in the late 00s, making haul-style videos to showcase their individual styles. While the format remains the same as it was a decade ago—bundles of clothing are held up to camera, tried on, and split into keep and return piles—the motivation to post has shifted. 

While haul videos were originally used to show off cute outfits and share great deals, they have evolved to become an advanced digital marketing channel. Now, brands are fully behind it: they compensate creators (not to mention gift them with product) if they’ll feature glowing reviews of the brand’s items, advertise discount codes, and share affiliate links so customers can shop them without getting up from the sofa.

In the early days of paid promotions, it was difficult to discern this type of advertising from unpaid, editorial content. But the scale of social media marketing, and the power of influencers, was revealed in 2017 when the FTC condemned undisclosed endorsements and mandated that paid promotions be called out as such (leading to “#ad” and “#spon” hashtags suddenly dominating timelines).

Despite the regulations, influencers kept going even faster than before. The constant churn of new items became the norm, and followers sought to emulate their favorite influencers by buying outfits to fuel new content. Some even bought clothes, photographed them to post online, and promptly sent them back.

Social media companies only promoted the promoters. With 87% of people saying influencers have inspired them to make a purchase, Instagram capitalized on their cachet by integrating shopping features with their platform, such as external links, product tags, product launch countdowns, and live shopping.

TikTok, the latest influencer-approved social site, is also testing social commerce strategies after being inspired by the success of its Chinese sister brand Douyin. The implementation of shoppable ads and livestreams suggests a further shift toward commercialized social media that will break down the barriers between liking a product and making a purchase.

All of the above is no small contributor to a massive sustainability problem: namely, the 92 million tons of textile waste created globally every year. Especially when it comes to fast fashion, which is particularly destructive to the planet. 

But the tides have begun to turn. As TikTok continues to invest in social commerce features and influencers migrate to the new app, it has also become a hotspot for creativity, upcycling, and reuse.

The prime example of this is the now-infamous SS20 menswear JW Anderson cardigan. Harry Styles wore the brand’s signature patchwork knit on The Today Show in February 2020 and inspired a slew of handmade recreations made for a fraction of the $1890 price tag. User @lilbittylivvie’s making-of video garnered over one million likes, while the “Harry Styles cardigan” tag has over 70 million views on the app.

While TikTok has become a home for do-it-yourself tutorials, Y2K upcycling montages, and craft how-tos, the kickback against fast fashion and overconsumption shows up differently across platforms.

On Instagram, where the influencer as we know it came to be, a new breed of sustainability is blooming. Creators post their “#oootd” (old outfit of the day—a riff on the now-ubiquitous #ootd: outfit of the day), take pride in being an “outfit repeater,” and style what they already have in multiple ways to show their followers that everything they need is already in their closet.

Instagram has also been pivotal in exposing greenwashing. Sustainability influencers question brands’ lofty claims and unearth misinformation causing fewer businesses to make vague, sweeping claims in fear of being canceled. Instead, they’re compelled to take concrete, verifiable action or even admit that they’re not truly sustainable and focus on tangible goals over PR-friendly headlines.

Sustainability influencers and activists also offer shareable quotes and digestible infographics that introduce alternative approaches to fashion. Shocking statistics, reuse inspiration, and “haulternatives” quickly find an audience of millions, sparking action and shifting perspectives.  

Cross-posting on Instagram and TikTok is popular among young generations, but Facebook’s older crowd champions conscious consumerism in private community groups. Members of sustainable fashion communities share upcycling tips, suggest places to buy quality second-hand clothing, and facilitate garment swapping. Creative communities flourish, sharing upcycling tutorials, beginners' guides, and virtual styling workshops. Facebook is less personality-based than Instagram or TikTok and has become a platform for the generous exchange of information, resources, and in some cases, outfits.

Each major social media platform has its own discourse and strategy, but all are critical—if not always consistent—partners in the fight against the unsustainable shopping habits they helped establish. It’s an uphill battle, however; there are 2.3 million haul posts on Instagram, and videos tagged “#ad” have racked up over 44 billion views on TikTok. 

So, as outfit repeaters challenge serial shoppers, and mend-and-thrift hauls threaten to dethrone the original haul video, social media has become a key tool in the fight against fast fashion. There's still hope that the quick growth and easy access that helped fast fashion grow is now aiding its downfall. 

Social Media Fueled Fast Fashion. Now It Has to Kill It.

Fashion & Culture