I was sitting around on Tuesday evening, procrastinating on designing a logo for a coffee shop in Portland. I had the tabs open for fashion week, thinking it’s totally legit research for my creative process. When I looked up and stared at the runway photos on my screen – I almost did a double take. I swear I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I was hallucinating. Here were the most unapologetically ridiculous galaxy leggings I’d seen since…well, I don’t know, the last time I wore them unironically in 2013.
I’m talking full-on cosmic nebula. Not some tasteful, subtle inspiration of celestial bodies. These were the exact same “I went shopping at Hot Topic in 2012” galaxy leggings — only with a $400 blazer on top instead of combat boots and a beanie with cat ears.
My first reaction was that someone had hacked the fashion week website and uploaded images from old Tumblr blogs. Honestly? The last time I recall seeing galaxy print taken seriously was when I was a broke college student who believed that pairing cosmic leggings with a thrifted band tee was the epitome of high fashion. Spoiler alert: it was not, but I was absolutely convinced.
I immediately sent a text to my friend Sarah, who works at a vintage shop in SE Portland. “Please tell me you’re seeing the whole galaxy print thing going on too, and I’m not experiencing some sort of early 2010s fever dream.” Her response was instantaneous. “Girl, I’ve sold more cosmic print pieces in the last month than I did in all of 2019. It’s happening.”
Let me explain to anyone who successfully avoided the internet between 2011-2014 (I am super jealous) what galaxy print was. Imagine every space documentary you’ve ever watched, but turned into fashion. Swirling nebulae in electric blues and purples, scattered stars, cosmic dust clouds — all printed onto clothing from leggings to phone cases to those weird circle skirts. It was as if the entire fashion industry had come together and declared that looking like a screensaver was the pinnacle of aesthetics.
And, I was absolutely down with it. Had the leggings. A galaxy print dress that I thought was sophisticated (it was not.) A cosmic print backpack that I took to my unpaid internship at a design firm, likely thinking that it showcased my creativity. Going through old pictures from that time period is …an experience. However, I knew I looked cool while I was wearing that stuff, and sometimes that’s what matters.
The thing about galaxy print back then was that it was more than just a print. That was peak Tumblr era, when the internet still felt like this magical place where you could find great independent brands and show off your individuality through aesthetic decisions that seemed truly subversive. Galaxy print was inclusive. You could purchase it at Forever 21 for 15 dollars or splurge on the fancy Aussie brand that everyone was obsessed with. It was optimistic. Digital. Weird.
After that, like all trends that burned brightly and fast, it just …died. By 2015, wearing galaxy print was essentially admitting you still had a MySpace account. It was grouped with owl necklaces and handlebar mustaches as one of those things we all agreed to act like we never experienced. I shoveled my cosmic items to the back of my closet and attempted to forget they existed.
However, now they are back. Not only are they back, but they are being taken seriously by people in the fashion industry.
I began paying attention after the first runway appearance, and honestly? It’s everywhere once you know where to look. Saw a woman at Powell’s last weekend wearing these incredible cosmic print pants that definitely were not from the clearance section. Saw someone at my agency’s client meeting wearing what appeared to be galaxy print but was sufficiently classy for a professional environment. My Instagram explore feed is filled with vintage sellers featuring cosmic prints as if they are rare finds instead of the stuff we all pretended to discard five years ago.
The biggest difference is the execution this time. While the first iteration of galaxy print was generally pretty literal — i.e. taking a picture of space and putting it on fabric — the current version is using the cosmic aesthetic as inspiration rather than simply slapping NASA photos onto leggings and calling it fashion.
Take this emerging designer I found via Instagram. She has created pieces with hand-dyed gradients that evoke nebulae, but without directly referencing space. They are cosmic-inspired but abstract enough that you could wear them to a meeting at work without your boss thinking you are having a midlife crisis. That is the type of 2013 me wished galaxy print could be when I was attempting to look professional in my cosmic leggings and praying no one noticed.
The styling is also entirely different. Rather than the full-on Tumblr girl aesthetic — you know, galaxy print everything with studded accessories and way too much black eyeliner — people are treating cosmic prints as a normal pattern. For example, pairing a subtle galaxy blouse with tailored pants, or wearing cosmic print as an accent rather than the focal point. It is way more sophisticated, which honestly makes me a bit sad for 22-year-old me who thought subtlety was boring.
But what I find interesting about this revival — it is not solely nostalgia. Like, when Y2K fashion returned, it was largely about Gen Z discovering a trend that they missed the first time around. The galaxy print thing seems more complex because it is occurring across multiple generations. You have the people like me who lived through it the first time, plus younger designers who were teenagers during the original trend and are now re-interpreting it, plus actual Gen Z kids who believe that cosmic prints are a fun new aesthetic that they have discovered.
I talked to my co-worker about this — she is roughly five years younger than me, and apparently was very into galaxy print in high school. “I never fully moved beyond it,” she said. “Like, I stopped wearing it because everyone said it was tacky, but I always thought the prints were really beautiful. Now I can wear them again without feeling embarrassed about it.”
This is the part of the galaxy print revival that I keep coming back to — perhaps galaxy print was not actually bad? Perhaps we just got collectively embarrassed about liking something that was deemed too digital, too young, too unfashionable for ‘true’ fashion. The aesthetic itself — cosmic imagery, colour gradations, that dreamy space-age feel — is pretty timeless. It was just the execution and cultural context that made it seem dated.
Also, the revival occurs at the same time as this larger trend towards maximalism and colour after years of everyone dressing in beige and calling it “elevated basics.” There is something exciting about cosmic prints after years of being told that the ultimate in sophistication is a $200 oatmeal colored sweater. Sometimes you want to look like you are dressed for intergalactic travel instead of attending a very expensive meditation retreat.
I have been testing the waters myself, incorporating cosmic elements into my wardrobe, but strategically. Found a vintage scarf with a faint galaxy print at a thrift store in Hawthorne — it is clearly from the original trend era, but the colours are mellow enough that it does not scream “Tumblr girl from 2013.” I have been wearing it with basic black outfits to gauge the reception without fully embracing the cosmic lifestyle again.
The response has been intriguing. Older fashion folks appear perplexed or somewhat appalled, as if I am wearing a relic from a time they would prefer to forget. Younger people and my friends who remember the original trend appear genuinely enthusiastic about it. “Oh my gosh, I love that you are doing galaxy print again,” a friend said when she saw the scarf. “I’ve been itching to bring out my old cosmic gear but wasn’t sure if it was too soon.”
Perhaps that is the real appeal of this revival — it provides a license to enjoy things we were embarrassed about. Fashion has a way of making you feel ashamed for your previous choices, as if each trend you enjoyed became proof of your lack of taste once it fell out of favour. However, seeing galaxy print treated seriously again leads me to wonder … why did we decide it was so awful in the first place?
One key area of improvement is the technical quality of the current galaxy prints. Many of the cosmic prints in the original trend were simply digital photographs heat-transferring onto low-quality fabrics that faded after three washes. The newer versions employ better printing techniques, higher-quality materials, and more sophisticated colour schemes. It is similar to comparing the galaxy print we desired in 2013 to what we ultimately received.
I will not be jumping back into full-on galaxy again. Those days of wearing cosmic leggings as a daily staple are long gone. However, I am finding value in the more thoughtful treatment of space-age aesthetics. It feels like fashion is maturing with the people who loved these prints the first time around. We are older now. We are supposed to be wiser. We are certainly more cautious regarding trend adoption. However, perhaps we can create better galaxy prints this time.
It also speaks to the evolution of our relationship with digital culture. In 2013, “internet fashion” was still somewhat niche — it existed separately from mainstream fashion, rather than being incorporated into it. Now, there is no division. Digital aesthetics are simply aesthetics, and just because something is popular online does not preclude it from being serious business to traditional fashion institutions.
So yes, galaxy print is back. Not in the same way as before, but in a form that recognizes both its original allure and its cultural baggage. Whether it continues to thrive or burns out once again remains to be seen. However, for the moment, I am enjoying the freedom to appreciate cosmic beauty without irony, albeit with significantly more restraint than 22-year-old me would have exhibited.
