I wrote this piece in early March 2020 in response to an article from The Cut, Will the millennial aesthetic ever end? It was set to be published with an online editorial, but ultimately lost in the shuffle as all eyes (and content) turned to COVID-19.
Instead of leaving it on a shelf to collect nano dust in the cloud, I'm posting it here, albeit a few months late.
Today, there is a new conversation emerging around consumer activism and demand for brands to take a stance. This article—unedited since March—merely skims the surface and critiques a style of branding that no longer reflects the tenor of today. That much is clear: the millennial aesthetic is, indeed, ended.
In a blush-colored corner of the Internet filled with political podcasts and “plant babies,” followers are delighting in the self-referential skepticism of Molly Fischer’s “Will the millennial aesthetic ever end?” With a subtle sneer, Fischer comments on the indistinctness of millennial design: “crowd-pleasing, risk-averse, calling just enough attention to itself to make it clear that you tried.” And yet, it’s everywhere. So much so that, over the years, a more confrontational corner of the Internet teased a startup formula for direct-to-consumer brands. It’s as if the ‘millennial aesthetic’ is the style that launched a thousand ships—or, in this case, 175 online mattress companies. “In this era, you come to understand, design was the product. Whatever else you might be buying, you were buying design, and all the design looked the same.”
The branding is all the same. And so is the origin story.
The founder often starts with something like “I was sitting in my grad school seminar, struggling to…” or “I was running through the airport, wishing for…” and ends with “...when I couldn’t find the solution anywhere, I decided to make it myself!” We hear the same story from startup founders in every kind of DTC company—from eyewear to athleisure, luggage to shaving kits.
And it stands to reason. Each of these entrepreneurs saw the opportunity: cut out the old-fashioned middleman to launch a modern challenger with affordable, well-designed products delivered direct to consumers. The cute, down-to-earth origin story simply suited the aesthetic: “it aims its appeal at everyone...and requires little in the way of special access, skills, or goods.”
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Fischer reasons that the ‘millennial aesthetic’ emerged amidst the Instagram era and a generation in search of “something gentle—something literally easier on the eye” than a small screen. Yes, and.
In 2014, Gen Y stepped squarely into adulthood, aged 18-33. ‘Millennial aesthetic’ evangelists like Casper burst onto the startup scene. The ‘cult of the founder’ flourished from coast to coast. And outside of this edgeless, sans serif bubble the tone of public discourse was shifting. As cotton-candy sunsets invaded our Instagram feeds, so too did “trigger warnings” and “tone policing”. Increased attention to cultural appropriation and sexual misconduct on college campuses rippled across the country, furthering the divide on issues of political correctness. And yet, the activist voice of the young generation was still largely dormant. In May 2014, Karen Swallow Prior explained the emerging trend of “empathetic correctness”:
“While political correctness seeks to cultivate sensitivity outwardly on behalf of those historically marginalized and oppressed groups, empathetic correctness focuses inwardly toward the protection of individual sensitivities. Now, instead of challenging the status quo by demanding texts that question the comfort of the Western canon, [college] students are demanding the status quo by refusing to read texts that challenge their own personal comfort.”
When faced with friction, instead of rising up we receded.* As political polarization increased, we immersed ourselves in feel-good lifestyle products and founder fairy tales precisely because it was all the same: “soft in its colors and in its lines, curved and unthreatening” (Fischer).
The ‘millennial aesthetic’ promised a sense of safety. Not from our phones, as Fischer suggests, but from our opinions. We tiptoed around each other online, creating ideological levees amongst like-minded communities. We filled our apartments with unremarkable objects, adopting an utterly inoffensive sense of style (conveniently delivered to our doorstep). The status appeal of the ‘millennial aesthetic’ was all about socially-acceptable taste and its ever-increasing ubiquity was reassurance that the kids were all right.
*(Worth noting the “we” in this case arguably skews towards a privileged class of primarily white, educated urbanites—the likely initial target audience and employee base for many of these early startups).
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So companies like Warby Parker and Brandless played it safe. And in doing so, they didn’t just capitalize on these cultural trends, they contributed to them by fashioning their identities in a style devoid of perspective.
Soothing aesthetic. Sweet story. No point of view. The equivalent of commercial coddling.
A point of view is an opinion. Notably different from a purpose or CSR strategy, a point of view is not a reason for existence or an altruistic initiative. It is the lens through which we see the world: what we think and how we say it; what we see and how we show it. Inherent to any opinion, a point of view carries the potential for tension and a likelihood that someone will disagree with you.
The ‘millennial aesthetic’ fundamentally lacks a point of view. But so as not to disrupt the “palliative ambiance”, as Fischer wrote, brands stay silent and ultimately say nothing.
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As an example, let’s look at one of the original DTC disruption categories: shaving. Billie and Flamingo deliver nearly identical products at nearly identical price points. And yet, Billie has something to say while Flamingo sits idly by in that blush-colored corner of the Internet.
(Launched in November 2017, acquired by P&G in January 2020)
Billie moves beyond the ‘millennial aesthetic’ in pursuit of Gen Z with retro imagery and bold contrasts. But the Euphoria-like styling is not what’s most important here. Billie showcases the value of their product and the fresh perspective they bring to this industry with body hair. There is hair everywhere and Billie is here for those who embrace it (or not). A point of view doesn’t have to be dramatic in order to be distinct; it’s about seeing the world in a unique way. In the case of Billie, bushy is beautiful.
(Launched in October 2018 by male-focused counterpart, Harry’s, which launched in July 2012)
Smooth surfaces, soft textures, round bodies. ‘Millennial aesthetic’ all around. Nothing the least bit prickly to catch your attention and believe this brand has a point of view. Offering products for “nuanced parts of personal care rituals”, Flamingo is passive to the point of avoiding the very category they claim to serve. The tonality and visual aesthetic feels as if Flamingo is too uncomfortable to call it what it is or show the figures for whom their products are designed.
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All of this is not to say the ‘millennial aesthetic’ has no place in branding. Quite the contrary. Consider Hims and Thinx. For these two companies, the product is the point of view. There is plenty of tension to overcome in order for their consumers to feel at ease. Hims is about acknowledging your hair loss, erectile dysfunction, and aging skin. Thinx is about embracing your female body to bleed freely all day. Any Oedipus analogies aside, here plush pastels serve a purpose. Succulents and citrus fruits are not merely decorative, but also functional. These visual metaphors welcome the viewer warmly, taking an otherwise intimidating or taboo topic and making it more accessible with a wink and a nod.
(On a meta level, this application of the ‘millennial aesthetic’ turns into something of a spoof by making meaning from the banal objects that otherwise mean nothing to us.)
(Launched in November 2017)
(Launched in December 2013)
These brands say something. In this case, they leverage the dulcet tones of the ‘millennial aesthetic’ to underscore their real efforts—destigmatizing human experiences that are perfectly normal but still considered to be taboo. This nuanced approach demonstrates sophistication in branding by employing the ‘millennial aesthetic’ with intention.
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At first, the rise of DTC, millennial-branded products signaled the arrival of affordable, convenient, quality (enough) consumer goods in politically correct packaging. They made us feel at-ease and adult. And yet, the ubiquity quickly became bland. Now, this omnipresent aesthetic exists in a state of branded stagnation, leaving an increasingly activist audience hungry for more.
The real damage of millennial-aestheticized branding is bigger than just a sea of sameness. By cocooning ourselves in this soft, safe, pastel—dare I say, womb-like—environment, we save space for a world in which tension, discomfort, and debate are unwelcome. The ‘millennial aesthetic’ is wholly lacking in opinion, as if out of fear of disapproval. Its ubiquity, especially amongst lifestyle brands, reinforces the idea that it is okay to avoid things that clash, no matter if it’s prints or politics.
Understanding a different perspective can lead to progress. Adopting a different point of view can lead to innovation. When we surround ourselves with diverse perspectives our empathy increases with our understanding. While the path may not be smooth—with differences and disagreements abound—it is more energizing. It is exhausting to always get along, which is why the ‘millennial aesthetic’ looks so tired. And as individuals, we each stand for something—the brands we are loyal to might as well acknowledge it.
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