It feels like every time I blink, there’s a new “core” trending on TikTok. Train Girl Core. Clean Girl Core. Mob Wife Core. Indie Sleaze Revival. Then there’s the Peckham Pimps, the Clapham Girlies, the Cool Girls in Sambas and by the time you’ve assembled the fit, it’s already expired.
This isn’t just exhausting. It’s wasteful. And no matter how many “thrift hauls” or “sustainable options” get thrown into the mix, the cycle’s still moving faster than the planet, or our wardrobes, can keep up with.
At first glance, it looks like TikTok’s the main culprit. And yeah, the app has definitely made fashion feel like a never-ending race to be first, weirdest, or most aesthetic. But underneath the chaos, there’s a deeper system at play: influencer gifting culture.
Think about it. A trend pops off not when one person styles it, but when everyone does, all at once. That doesn’t happen organically. That happens when brands gift the same product to the same 15 creators, all in the same friendship group, who then post the same product within days of each other. Suddenly it’s everywhere. Not because it’s “hot,” but because it was handed out in bulk.
It’s less a cultural movement and more a marketing strategy disguised as taste.
And honestly? That’s what makes it dangerous. Because it means brands are now in control of trend lifespans. They decide who gets the product, how it’s styled, and when the next microtrend gets rolled out. And it’s always rolled out fast because slow doesn’t make anyone go viral.
So even if you’re trying to shop sustainably or invest in timeless pieces, you’re still being nudged toward aesthetic whiplash. Because “timeless” doesn’t trend. A £200 wool coat with a 20-year lifespan doesn’t go viral like a mesh top with cherries on it styled five different ways by five of your faves within the same week.
But what if brands approached influence differently?
Virgil Abloh did. He didn’t just hand Off-White to the usual streetwear boys. He gifted across genres; artists, architects, skaters, athletes, musicians, even furniture designers. Which meant his pieces didn’t just circulate, they landed. They lived longer. They crossed audiences. They became cultural references, not just content.
Compare that to the adidas Samba situation. The comeback was cute, but then every influencer in London wore them on every corner of Soho and now even they look tired. Not because the shoe’s dead, but because the rollout was suffocating. Too many people, too fast, in too small a scene. Legacy can’t breathe when hype takes up all the oxygen.
If we want slower fashion, we need slower influence. And slower influence means broader circles, not tighter ones. It means choosing long-term relevance over short-term saturation. It means not handing the same corset to ten girls with the same lighting setup, but giving it to people who’ll style it, remix it, live in it.
Because if “core” culture is going to survive, it has to evolve. Not just shift every six weeks, but actually stand for something. Not just look good in a mirror selfie, but reflect a wider culture. And yeah, TikTok’s not going anywhere, but maybe we don’t need to keep spinning the wheel just because the algorithm says so.
We can’t slow down trend cycles until we rethink who’s controlling them. And maybe it starts with brands gifting less, gifting smarter, and giving outside the bubble. That’s how we move from hype to heritage. From microtrend to movement.
Because if everything’s aesthetic, then nothing is. And the landfill doesn’t care if your outfit was trending last Tuesday.