In an era where our digital footprints are as significant as our physical ones, the idea that you can tell someone’s screen time by their outfit isn’t as outlandish as it sounds.
This phenomenon, often referenced online as “chronically online fashion,” describes hyper-specific outfits that reflect an individual’s deep immersion in online culture. These looks are more than just fashion choices. They’re an extension of algorithmic curation and fleeting digital trends. These trends blur the line between wearability and aesthetics.
The Rise of “Chronically Online” Fashion
“Chronically online” is a term used to describe individuals who are so immersed in the digital world that it becomes an inseparable part of their identity. In a Vogue Business article, fashion commentator Alexandra Hildreth quips, “You can tell someone’s screen time from their outfit.” This speaks to how fashion has shifted from something deeply personal to something defined by internet culture. The rise of algorithm-driven platforms like TikTok, Pinterest, and Instagram means fashion is no longer dictated by traditional trends. Instead, it is shaped by the whims of an endless scroll.
Chronically online fashion ranges from the viral MSCHF boots spotted on celebrities to the quietly trending bloomers. These pieces often feel impractical in the real world but thrive in the digital realm. These trends don’t have to make sense in the physical world because they aren’t intended for it. They are designed for the internet feed, curated to gain attention and generate engagement.
The echo chamber of fashion on social media
The internet’s obsession with highly specific “cores” (think balletcore, cottagecore, or clowncore) has led to an explosion of micro-trends. These trends are far removed from mainstream, everyday-wear looks. They often bleed into one another, forming a kind of digital “echo chamber.” In this space, the same niche outfits and accessories are endlessly recycled. This makes them feel oddly familiar but disjointed in the real world. As a result, a form of “fashion fuel” is created. It’s more about consumption than creativity.
Fashion today is no longer about setting trends, but about fitting into pre-existing ones curated by algorithms.
As Paul Skallas writes on X, “If you time-travel back to 2007 wearing what you are now, people wouldn’t know you’re from the future.” The internet accelerates this concept, turning past trends into products that are repackaged as new and exciting. These outfits, often more ironic than stylish, reflect how deeply we’ve sunk into the digital realm. Here, being “seen” online takes precedence over being genuinely fashionable in the real world.
The obsession with curated online personas leads to a paradox. We are all trying to stand out, but in doing so, we end up looking remarkably similar. Social media algorithms target likes, follows, and engagement with precision. This has created a standardisation of fashion that is almost impossible to escape from. Everyone wears the same clothes at the same time. Often, this is done for no other reason than the fleeting nature of a viral moment. This is the crux of “chronically online” fashion. It’s individualism for the sake of algorithmic validation, not personal expression.
Impracticality as a fashion statement
It’s not just that these outfits are hyper-stylised, they’re also impractical. In fact, impracticality has become a cornerstone of the chronically online aesthetic. Outfits aren’t designed to be worn to work, school, or even the supermarket; they’re created to be captured in a perfectly framed photo or video. The more exaggerated and outlandish the outfit, the higher the likelihood it will generate engagement.
Take, for example, the bloomers trend that has dominated TikTok for over a year. These pastel, frilly shorts—often likened to a diaper—may seem cute in theory. Originally inspired by historical undergarments, they’re almost impossible to wear outside the confines of a bedroom or a styled photoshoot. Often styled with cowboy boots and baby tees, they remain a digital-only novelty. No one outside the online world is fully ready to adopt such an impractical piece of clothing, but their popularity on TikTok has ensured their place in the chronically online lexicon.
Bloomers aren’t alone. The rise of mesh outfits, often paired with visible undergarments, further exemplifies this phenomenon. These outfits are more about visual appeal for a screen than utility. As Bliss Foster aptly put it, fashion today has to be “super easy for the viewer to understand what they’re being shown instantly.” What’s lost in the translation from screen to street is how impractical these garments are when worn outside the digital realm.
The role of camp and excess in online fashion
Exaggeration is one of the driving forces of online fashion, resulting in outfits that seem designed specifically for shock value. This trend of exaggerated style reflects a rebellion against mainstream fashion. The internet has accelerated the desire for hyper-individualism, allowing users to express their uniqueness through increasingly niche, exaggerated looks.
In a post-pandemic world, where hyperindividuality is the norm, online fashion has become a battleground for personal expression. During the lockdown, as people spent more time in their homes, online fashion became a form of escape. It allowed users to embody various “cores” like cottagecore or barbiecore as a way of coping with isolation.
What began as a means of finding comfort and identity through clothing has now evolved into a performance: dressing not for real life, but for the internet.
@mustbemargiela food for thought. #fashiontiktok #trends #personalstyle #style #fyp #fashion #trend ♬ original sound – mustbemargiela
In a way, these online outfits are like costume play. The goal is less about function and more about the image. As TikTok creator @mustbemargiela describes, “When someone genuinely dresses in a unique way on this app, they’re hated and the disposition towards their content is always rancid.” This highlights the paradox at play. In striving for uniqueness, many people end up looking the same. They’re all chasing the same algorithmic validation.
The digital-only fashion movement: Dressing for the algorithm
As social media continues to shape fashion choices, it’s clear that the primary source of fashion inspiration now comes from digital platforms. Magazines, once the primary gatekeepers of style, are no longer the first place fashion trends are born. Social media, with its constantly evolving feeds, has taken over as the dominant space for self-fashioning. On platforms like Instagram, Pinterest, and TikTok, users curate their identities through outfits that are more about performance than reality.
Outfits designed for social media are tailored to the digital environment, not the physical world. A clean girl aesthetic or a coastal grandma outfit looks great on a well-lit Instagram post, but they lack the practicality needed for day-to-day wear. Social media, for many, has become the ultimate space for self-expression, where users are free to dress however they choose without fear of physical judgment. The more outlandish the outfit, the better it fits into the performance of internet culture. And for those whose income relies on engagement, whether influencers or content creators, standing out is essential. Hyper-stylised, impractical outfits become a necessity in a saturated market.
Is your outfit a reflection of your screen time?
So, can you tell someone’s screen time by their outfit? The answer is, quite frankly, yes. The rise of “chronically online” fashion is a direct result of our immersion in digital culture. Outfits, once designed to fit seamlessly into the real world, are now curated for the screen, shaped by algorithmic validation rather than everyday needs. The absurdity of these outfits, whether it’s bloomers, mesh dresses, or tights worn as trousers, reveals much more than just an aesthetic choice; it’s a symptom of our constant scrolling, the search for digital engagement, and a cultural shift that privileges style over function.
The absurdity of these outfits, whether it’s bloomers, mesh dresses, or tights worn as trousers, reveals more than just an aesthetic choice. It’s a symptom of our constant scrolling, the pursuit of digital engagement, and a cultural shift that prioritises style over function.
In many ways, these outfits are a reflection of how fashion has evolved in the digital age: from a tool for self-expression to a performance for the algorithm. As we continue to navigate this virtual landscape, the line between what is wearable in real life and what is designed for the feed will only continue to blur. What remains to be seen is whether we can return to a world where fashion is driven by personal expression rather than the need to be seen.
