The thrill and threat of fitting in, for whoever needs to hear this

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 12/01/2024 (982 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Over the holidays, I kept running into a particular type of video online.

In Instagram Reels and TikToks, moms lamented about their tween daughters’ Christmas wish lists, which generally consisted of the same four luxury items: a Stanley Cup (not that Stanley Cup), UGG slippers, “Lululemon everything” and expensive skin care.

Because apparently all tweens are 40-something Instagram influencers from Salt Lake City.

Look, I’m not here to ridicule the preferences of tween girls because frankly society does enough of that already. What I find fascinating is that not only is every wish list identical — every video about the wish list is also identical.

This isn’t a new idea, of course. People adopt trends because we’re hardwired as humans to seek belonging and status, and an easy way to acquire both is through the purchase of things.

The actual consumer goods at the heart of these trends may change; I came of age when the most coveted piece of clothing was a pair of velour sweatpants with the word Juicy on the ass and I was born just after a time in history during which people punched each other in the face over a Cabbage Patch Kid.

But the concept remains the same: you should want this thing because everyone wants this thing and you want to fit in with everyone… right?

But the rise of hyper-visual social media platforms such as Instagram and TikTok — combined with the ability to purchase things right on your phone — has created a kind of esthetic homogeneity. Everyone looks the same, dresses the same and drinks out of the same enormous $45 tumbler.

Everyone takes the same photos when they travel, and for a while there, it seemed like every millennial was painting her walls white or “millennial pink,” buying faux mid-century modern furniture and trying to keep a fiddle leaf fig alive.

Creators use the same audio, too — which is how Makeba, a song from 2015 by French singer-songwriter Jain became a viral hit in the summer of 2023.

Everyone online even talks the same way. They use the same prompts — “I was today years old…” or “I don’t know who needs to hear this but…” — or adopt similar speaking cadences and turns of phrase.

This is a common occurrence called linguistic accommodation, which can be observed in groups of pals, too. But on a larger scale, the effect is flattening.

As a woman online, I’ve found myself gravitating towards — and adopting — a lot of these trends and tics, too. But do I actually like these things? Or do I just think I like them because I’m on the internet? How do you cultivate true personal style when personal style is now something that’s been outsourced to algorithms? While it can be fun and affirming to participate in trends, to feel like you belong or are “in” — whether that’s in the group, or in style, or in the know — it’s also boring.

Then again, perhaps the idea of “personal style” has always been a bit of a misnomer. Personal style is usually a group effort, a collage of influences — be they artists or TV characters or the coolest girl at your high school. So maybe I’m just craving a wider palette to pull from in my online life. I want to be inspired, not just influenced.

I’m neither a tween nor a mother but the algorithm kept feeding me the Stanley UGG Lululemon wish-list videos. The comments underneath them were also all the same: “We’re all out here living the same life.”

What a heartwarming and harrowing thought.

jen.zoratti@winnipegfreepress.com