I spent a week learning what “cores” are and now I understand why Gen Z thinks I’m ancient

My phone buzzed at 7:23 AM with a text from my little sister Emma: “Madison are you more cottagecore or dark academia?” I literally hadn’t even opened my eyes yet, let alone processed what those words meant when strung together like that. I mean, I knew what cottage meant. And core. And dark and academia separately. But together? My brain was still in coffee-seeking mode, not fashion philosophy mode.

“I’m barely awake-core right now,” I texted back, which honestly felt pretty clever for someone who hadn’t consumed caffeine yet. She responded with three crying-laughing emojis and then absolutely destroyed my phone with what appeared to be seventeen TikTok links, all featuring teenagers in various themed outfits that looked like they’d raided different decades and aesthetic movements all at once.

I watched every single one while my oatmeal got cold, and realized I’d somehow missed an entire cultural shift despite literally working in visual design and spending way too much time on Instagram. This is embarrassing for someone who’s supposed to have their finger on the pulse of… well, anything really.

Here’s the thing about being a millennial in 2024 – you think you’re keeping up with trends, and then suddenly there are like forty-seven different aesthetic categories that apparently everyone under twenty-two has memorized while you were busy trying to figure out if skinny jeans are actually dead or just taking a break. It’s like when you realize you’ve been pronouncing a word wrong your entire life, except instead of one word it’s an entire vocabulary of style tribes.

So I did what any reasonable person would do when faced with their own cultural irrelevance – I spent the next five days falling down the deepest rabbit hole of aesthetic research instead of working on the logo redesign that’s been sitting on my desk for two weeks. My boss probably thinks I’ve developed a sudden interest in social media marketing, which isn’t technically wrong.

Let me break this down for anyone else who’s been living under a rock (or just, you know, paying rent and trying to have a functioning adult life). The whole “core” thing apparently started with normcore back in 2014, which was basically making boring clothes fashionable on purpose. Think Jerry Seinfeld but make it intentional. Then cottagecore exploded during the pandemic when we were all losing our minds in lockdown and fantasizing about escaping to some woodland cabin to bake bread and befriend woodland creatures instead of refreshing Twitter every thirty seconds.

From there, it’s like the internet took the concept and ran it through a copy machine that was having a creative breakdown. Now there’s apparently a “core” for every possible mood, lifestyle choice, or aesthetic preference you could imagine. And I mean everything. There’s goblincore, which seems to involve collecting shiny objects and embracing your inner feral child. There’s light academia versus dark academia, which is basically the difference between wanting to look like you read poetry in a sunny library versus a haunted one.

The algorithm situation makes it even weirder. TikTok isn’t showing everyone the same trends – it’s creating these super specific micro-communities based on what it thinks you personally want to see. So while I was over here watching videos about sustainable fashion and thrift flips, Emma was apparently getting fully indoctrinated into something called “coquette” which involves lots of bows and looking like you stepped out of a Lana Del Rey music video.

After way too much research (and several questionable late-night Amazon cart additions that I thankfully abandoned), I’ve managed to decode the main cores that are currently dominating young people’s wardrobes and mood boards. Think of this as your crash course in understanding what the hell anyone under twenty-five means when they describe their outfit aesthetic.

Barbiecore is probably the easiest one to understand because it’s literally just… Barbie. Hot pink everything, blonde hair optional but encouraged, accessories that could blind someone from across the room. It’s funny because I remember being in middle school and rejecting anything pink as anti-feminist, and now grown women are dropping serious money on pink designer pieces because of a movie about a plastic doll. Character growth, I guess?

Balletcore is having a major moment, and it’s basically everything you’d expect – ballet flats (RIP to your feet if you actually try to walk anywhere in those), wrap sweaters, leg warmers, lots of pale pink and white. I attempted this aesthetic for exactly one day and my coworker asked if I was teaching a yoga class later. Make of that what you will.

Then there’s coastal grandmother, which is essentially “what if you dressed like you owned a house in Martha’s Vineyard and had very strong opinions about organic vegetables?” Linen everything, neutral cashmere, straw hats, and the general vibe that you’re about to go antiquing or arrange some flowers you grew yourself. I accidentally nailed this look for a client meeting last month and got more compliments than I have in ages, so maybe I’ve found my calling.

Dark academia is for people who want to look like they’re either attending Hogwarts or about to recite Edgar Allan Poe in a candlelit room. Tweed, argyle, oxford shirts, pleated skirts, and the general impression that your bag contains leather-bound books instead of your laptop and three different lip balms. Light academia is the same concept but less gothic and more “I read Jane Austen in sunny coffee shops.”

Cottagecore refuses to die, which honestly makes sense because who doesn’t want to look like they could be dropped into a BBC period drama without the costume department having to do anything? Floral prints, puff sleeves, prairie dresses, and an inexplicable urge to own chickens despite living in a 500-square-foot apartment with no outdoor space.

The speed at which these aesthetics rise and fall is genuinely exhausting. By the time I figured out what goblincore was, TikTok had apparently decided it was over and moved on to something called “coastal cowgirl” which is… I don’t even know, honestly. It’s like trying to keep up with fashion week except it’s happening every week and the runway is a nineteen-year-old’s bedroom.

But here’s what I’ve realized after my week-long deep dive into core culture – this isn’t just about clothes. These aesthetics are like lifestyle mood boards. When someone says they’re into dark academia, they’re not just talking about wearing tweed skirts. They’re talking about wanting to study in gothic libraries, drink tea from vintage teacups, and surround themselves with old books and classical music. It’s aspirational living, but make it fashion.

For those of us trying to incorporate any of this into our actual adult lives without looking like we’re in costume or desperately trying to reclaim our youth, I’ve developed some strategies through trial and significant error.

First, be realistic about your actual life. I work at a small design agency in Portland, not at Oxford University or a lighthouse in Maine. Full dark academia or coastal grandmother might raise some eyebrows in client meetings. But I can absolutely work in elements that reference these aesthetics without looking like I’m cosplaying.

Start small. Instead of going full Barbiecore and showing up to work looking like I fell into a vat of Pepto Bismol, I got one really good hot pink blazer that I wear with my usual black pants and white shirts. It gives the vibe without screaming “I base my personality on TikTok trends.”

Accessories are your friend here. A dark academia plaid scarf, some coastal grandmother pearl earrings, or even just a balletcore hair ribbon can reference the aesthetic without requiring a complete wardrobe overhaul. Plus, accessories are way easier on the budget, which is always a concern when you’re trying to keep up with trends that change faster than the weather.

Shop your own closet first. I found a cardigan I’d forgotten about that’s perfect for light academia, and that linen shirt I only wear on vacation is peak coastal grandmother. You might already own pieces that work for certain cores – you just need to style them differently.

Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t buy fast fashion versions of these trends. I know it’s tempting when something catches your eye and you want to experiment, but those pieces will fall apart faster than TikTok can invent a new core. If you want to try something, check secondhand stores or see if friends have pieces you can borrow. My friend group has started doing informal clothing swaps as our aesthetic interests evolve, which is both budget-friendly and better for the environment.

The most important thing I’ve learned is not to take any of this too seriously. These aesthetic categories are meant to be fun and inspiring, not rigid rules you have to follow perfectly. Mix elements from different cores that speak to you, ignore the ones that don’t, and remember that your personal style should actually reflect your personal life.

When I finally responded to Emma with my analysis – that I was probably “coastal grandmother with some dark academia tendencies and a touch of cottagecore for weekends” – she seemed genuinely impressed. “That totally makes sense for you,” she texted back, followed by a mirror selfie of her outfit that somehow combined balletcore, Y2K revival, and what looked like anime influences. The caption read “Trying something new today.”

That’s the thing about this whole core phenomenon that I actually appreciate – it’s giving people permission to be really specific about their style preferences and to find communities around shared aesthetic interests. Instead of just “preppy” or “bohemian,” now it can be “dark academia with cottagecore influences and a touch of coastal grandmother for summer.” It’s both overwhelming and weirdly liberating.

The cynical part of me wants to roll my eyes at the endless categorization of every possible aesthetic preference. But the designer part of me finds it fascinating how these visual languages develop and spread. And the broke millennial part of me appreciates that a lot of these cores can be achieved through thrifting and creative styling rather than buying entirely new wardrobes.

So whether you’re team Barbiecore or firmly planted in coastal grandmother territory (or, like me, a chaotic mix of whatever happens to be clean and weather-appropriate), there’s apparently room for everyone in this new world of hyper-specific aesthetic tribes.

Just don’t ask me to explain “weirdcore” because I looked into it briefly and it seemed genuinely concerning. There are limits to my research commitment, and that one crossed several of them.