the blight of being a teenager in an era of aesthetics

something that i, as a teenager, have been wrestling with lately are aesthetics.

(tw: mentions of ed, sh, beauty standards, covid-19, lockdown, emotional neglect, ageplay, failed suicide attempt, c.ai addiction).

as a child growing up in the era of social media and super-powered electronic bricks, i am what some would consider chronically online.

i was given my first iphone at the age of 6, and hours upon hours of my days and nights would be spend alternating between youtube and roblox (or sometimes both at the same time) in hopes of escaping the severe emotional neglect i faced at home.

my validation came from strangers a decade older than me, my youtube feed was filled with unregulated content much too mature for me, and my personality blossomed from the less-than-savory underbelly of internet culture. then, the covid-19 lockdown hit.

i was a mere 8 years old when it began, and my life was rapidly unraveling in ways unrelated. i got hit with a daddy issues: the sequel; i moved, i lost my dog and my long-time father figure, and my sense of self was essentially shattered beyond repair (not that it was very intact in the first place). i was already a tablet kid, but this just kicked my ass into gear.

now, not only were my days spent online, but they were spent in the absolute clusterfuck that was 2020 tiktok.

my youtube was filled with compilation after compilation of VSCO girls, indie kids, and, most notably, 2020 alt.

for the first time in my life, i discovered the concept of being alternative.

i immediately began to dress like the teenagers i saw on my feed, complete with the bunny hat, anime t-shirt, spiked collars, and amazon demonias (which, unsurprisingly, broke within the first week or so of my having them). i was beginning to explore my personal style—and it felt wonderful.

as i grew older, i experimented with more and more styles, though i remained in the alternative umbrella. i researched substyles and subcultures like my life depended on it, expanded my music tastes to everything from mitski to brokencyde to miranda lambert, and became increasingly involved in fandom culture.

this brings me to my discovery of jojifuku/cutecore (or, when everything began spiraling).

if you don’t know what jojifuku/cutecore is, it is a niche j-fashion style that basically consists of looking as similar as possible to a little girl. the goal is to be small enough to wear brands like mezzo piano (a japanese kidswear brand) and be incredibly cute.

i, like a handful of others, were drawn to the cute, fuzzy pastels and anime motifs. however, as i researched deeper, i realized the style had a darker side.

many people in the community allegedly partook in ageplay or romanticized gore, mental health issues, and extreme thinness to fit into the clothes.

as a kid who had been in certain alt communities for a long time, this wasn’t necessarily anything new to me, but i’d never been so deep into a style that so heavily romanticized these things. it was around this time that i began to self-harm, and i made my failed suicide attempt.

after a couple months i moved onto a different subculture (though i can’t remember which—probably scene or gyaru), but to this day the style holds a special place in my heart despite its piss-poor effects on my mental health and the sometimes-toxic community.

fast forward a bit, and i stumble upon jirai-kei (or, landmine style).

the clothes, the makeup, the culture—all so reminiscent of that kawaii/creepy aesthetic i regarded so dearly.

i did more research as i always did, and every single creator i stumbled upon was stick-thin with flat stomachs and thigh gaps.

being an impressionable 14 year old, i began to wonder if perhaps i needed to have a flat stomach and a thigh gap (even as vehemently feminist as i was, what teenage girl doesnt fall victim to toxic beauty standards at some point?).

i began starving myself severely, to the point where i lost 16 pounds in a month. my character. ai addiction was spiraling out of control. i was convinced that i must be skinny and mentally unwell if i ever wanted to be a true landmine.

after about a month, i luckily fell out of that mindset.

after jirai-kei i moved onto jojifuku/cutecore again, and then himekaji (princess-casual), and then southern gothic, and then mori-kei, (forest style), and now, scene once again. each of these brief obsessions lasted no more than a month, and each time i trapped myself within the confines of a measly, two-dimensional label.

i have been so frustrated with myself; why can’t i just pick a subculture and stick with it? why can’t i contort my body and heart and soul into a single box for the rest of my life like everyone else can? why cant i be skinny? why cant i be pretty? why can’t i, why can’t i, why can’t i?

in my opinion, teenagers are already really susceptible to toxic beauty standards, phases, and a desperate need for community, and the rise of aesthetics and ‘-cores’ take advantage of these issues.

an aesthetic, a substyle, a subculture, a label is something concrete that you can cling to in the midst of everything inside and around you changing. it’s a sort of life raft thrown at you as you’re tumbling down the rapids, hitting your head and skinning your knees and biting your tongue with every uncontrollable spiral.

it’s an invitation into a community of people who will (theoretically) unconditionally accept you for who you are—teenaged awkwardness and all.

but, it’s a double-edged sword.

if you grow out of your chosen label, you lose that certainty; suddenly, you’ve not just outgrown clothes, but you’ve outgrown an identity. you’ve outgrown your humor, your taste in media, your community, and the very thing you were trying to avoid is beginning again: change.

so, you cling to a new label, and you are determined to keep this one. you do anything to fit in as much as you possibly can—even if it means starving yourself and/or hurting yourself.

but you outgrow this label as well, and the cycle only repeats. each phase is shorter than the last, and each habit you partake in is only more destructive.

but, once there are no more labels left to hide behind, what remains?

do you have an identity beyond your clothes, your music, the people you surround yourself with? forget your name—who are you, really?

i suppose that is the true blight of being a teenager in an era of aesthetics: you spend your formative years curating a performance, but you never really retain the space to curate yourself, your identity.

all i can say now is give yourself room to change.

whether you’re a tween, teen, or adult, you’ll probably change for the rest of your life; i certainly don’t like it and you might not either, but it’s the truth.

the only thing you can do is retain space for yourself—not just the performance. understand that things in life typically unfold in a non-linear manner, and you’ll be happiest if you don’t force yourself to be one unchanging thing forever.

c’est la vie, non?