Cyclical fashion: the attraction of Y2K innocence
The return of turn of millennium style hints at a desire among young people for easier times
There it was, dangling like a forgotten rag from its hanger, wedged between a Mongolian wool tippet and a funnel-necked coat. With its sequins winking in the late-spring sunshine it was almost calling: “Remember me?”
I hauled it out and admired it all over again. Rediscovering this Millennium-eve dress after a morning sorting through wardrobes stuffed with “archives” was a highlight of lockdown. Many of us found comfort and distraction in revisiting stored treasures during those frightening weeks.
A black sheer slip with spaghetti straps and giant rectangles of opaque pewter sequins stitched to the front, bought at huge expense with the excuse that it was a “classic”, my dress held, at the end of the last century, all the promise and sophistication of a CD-ROM. I tried to recall where else I had worn it: to dinner at the once-swanky but ill-fated Titanic restaurant on Leicester Square. Another time to the premiere of an unwatchable Nicolas Cage film.
I sent pictures to a friend. Minutes later, her 20-something daughter messaged back. “Love the dress!” What, she wondered, were my “plans” for it?
Fashion revivals turn on 20-year cycles, or so the theory goes. According to GQ, millennium-era gear is “the hottest thing in the vintage clothing world”; Google searches for Y2K fashion are up threefold in two years; British pop star Charli XCX has recently taken to wearing miniature plastic butterfly clips in her hair. That a generation born in the 1990s and early 2000s are in thrall to that brazen aesthetic, and drawn to what New York Times writer Lindsay Zoladz calls “a retro-futuristic early-aughts extravaganza”, is the natural order of things.
Viewed from today, the clothes we wore in the handful of years before 2001 were the manifestation of a bright imagined future, says Geraldine Wharry, a 43-year-old fashion trend forecaster based in New York, who says she has “been at parties where I feel like I’m time-travelling”. Looking back at contemporaneous music videos, she is right. The action often seemed to take place in space (Britney Spears’ “Oops! . . . I Did It Again”, 2000), or on spaceships (TLC’s “No Scrubs”, 1999, Kylie Minogue’s “Love at First Sight”, 2001), and involved scrappy outfits in white and silver metallics (Mel C and Lisa Lopes’ “Never Be the Same Again”, 1999).
These were the last moments before 9/11 and the financial crash — events that traumatised a generation and priced them out of a stake in the future. The pre-smartphone era meant young lives weren’t tracked and traced with today’s ferocity. Our biggest existential threat was the Millennium bug.
“It is a subconscious craving for those things,” says Wharry. “And, of course, a way of saving money and owning unique things.” There is also a lot of Y2K gear around, on Depop, eBay and idling in parental wardrobes, for example. Whereas “good ’70s and ’80s stuff is super-expensive and hard to find.”
What does Wharry remember as the defining looks of the Y2K era? She cites “really low-rise denim” and cargos worn with stiletto heels. I suddenly remember a pair of Maharishi cargos embroidered with an elaborate Chinese dragon, now languishing in a box under my bed. Their side-pocket flaps stuck out like elephant ears, but they made excellent post-maternity wear. “Keep them, they are valuable,” says Wharry.
Zowie Broach, head of fashion at the Royal College of Art, is unsettled by the return of Y2K. Dressing up in millennium garb, says Broach, “allows people not to feel like they are living in a time that may hurt or scratch. It’s not dada or punk, it’s not a protest era or an era of disruption.
“We are living through a pandemic and in the ricochet of the financial crisis. Is it right to soften when we should be arming ourselves? We have to warn young people to be smart, not pulled back by nostalgia.”
Back in my wardrobe, I am suddenly struck by how my old Y2K-era clothes really are sunnily retro-futuristic. A pair of claret Miu Miu dolly shoes have metallic-pink flashes at the heel and enormous rubber soles reminiscent of squid suckers. Flimsy cardigans and camisoles in dusty shades of Parma violet edged in garish neon lace. More cargos, trailing hardware and with elasticated ankles.
Should I pass on my Millennium eve dress? It is still a shock to be on the wrong end of a style revival, something akin to being circled by vultures. On the other hand, it would make my friend’s daughter happy, and as Broach reminds me, it would be the sustainable thing to do. It turns out, with its scrappy shape and glittery facade, it was no more “classic” than a scrunchie. What does my young friend like about it, I wonder? She messages back: “Looks like a lot of fun!!”