I thought I was hallucinating when I saw galaxy print on the runway – but this 2010s throwback is everywhere now

So there I was last Tuesday night, procrastinating on a logo design for a Portland coffee shop by scrolling through fashion week coverage (totally counts as research for my creative process, right?), when I literally did a double-take. Like, actually rubbed my eyes and everything. Because staring back at me from some minimalist designer’s runway was the most unapologetic pair of galaxy leggings I’d seen since… well, since I was wearing them unironically in 2013.

I’m talking full-on cosmic nebula situation here. Not some subtle celestial inspiration or whatever elevated space-age nonsense fashion people usually describe – these were straight-up “I raided the clearance rack at Hot Topic in 2012” galaxy leggings, just styled with a $400 blazer instead of combat boots and a beanie with cat ears.

My first thought was that someone had hacked the fashion week website and replaced the photos with screenshots from old Tumblr posts. Because honestly? The last time I saw galaxy print taken seriously was when I was a broke college kid thinking that cosmic leggings paired with a thrifted band tee constituted high fashion. Spoiler alert: it didn’t, but I was confident as hell about it.

I immediately texted my friend Sarah who works at a vintage shop in Southeast. “Please tell me you’re seeing this galaxy print thing too and I’m not having some kind of early 2010s fever dream.” Her response came back in like thirty seconds: “Girl, I’ve sold more cosmic print pieces in the last month than I did in all of 2019. It’s definitely happening.”

For anyone who managed to avoid the internet between 2011 and 2014 (honestly, jealous), let me paint you a picture of what galaxy print was. Imagine every space documentary you’ve ever seen, but make it fashion. Swirling nebulae in electric blues and purples, scattered stars, cosmic dust clouds – all printed onto everything from leggings to phone cases to those weird circle skirts everyone was wearing. It was like the entire fashion world collectively decided that looking like a screensaver was peak aesthetic.

And I mean, I was totally into it. Had the leggings, obviously. A galaxy print dress that I thought made me look sophisticated (it did not). Even a cosmic print backpack that I carried to my unpaid internship at a design studio, probably thinking it showed my creative edge. Looking back at photos from that era is… an experience. But you know what? I felt cool wearing that stuff, and sometimes that’s what matters.

The thing about galaxy print back then was that it represented something bigger than just a pattern. This was peak Tumblr era, when the internet still felt like this magical place where you could discover amazing independent brands and express your personality through aesthetic choices that felt genuinely subversive. Galaxy print was democratic – you could get it at Forever 21 for fifteen bucks or splurge on the fancy Australian brand that everyone was obsessing over. It was optimistic and digital and weird in the best possible way.

Then, like all trends that burn too bright too fast, it just… died. By 2015, wearing galaxy print was basically admitting you still had a MySpace account. It got lumped in with owl necklaces and handlebar mustache everything as one of those things we all agreed to pretend never happened. I definitely shoved my cosmic pieces to the back of my closet and tried to forget they existed.

Except now they’re back, apparently. And not just back – they’re being taken seriously by actual fashion people who use phrases like “elevated streetwear” without irony.

I started paying attention after that first runway sighting, and honestly? It’s everywhere once you know to look for it. Spotted a woman at Powell’s last weekend wearing these gorgeous cosmic print pants that definitely weren’t from the clearance rack. Saw someone at my agency’s client meeting wearing what looked like galaxy print but was somehow sophisticated enough for a professional setting. My Instagram explore page is full of vintage sellers highlighting cosmic pieces like they’re rare finds instead of the stuff we all pretended to throw away five years ago.

The difference this time around is the execution, though. Where the original galaxy trend was often pretty literal – like, here’s a photo of space printed onto fabric – the revival is more… thoughtful? I guess? Designers are using the cosmic aesthetic as inspiration rather than just slapping NASA photos onto leggings and calling it fashion.

Take this emerging designer I discovered through Instagram – her pieces have these hand-dyed gradients that evoke nebulae without being obviously space-themed. They’re cosmic-inspired but abstract enough that you could wear them to a work meeting without your boss thinking you’re having a quarter-life crisis. It’s what 2013 me wished galaxy print could be when I was trying to look professional in my cosmic leggings and hoping nobody would notice.

The styling is completely different too. Instead of the full Tumblr girl aesthetic – you know, galaxy print everything paired with studded accessories and too much black eyeliner – people are treating cosmic prints like any other pattern. Pairing a subtle galaxy blouse with tailored pants, or wearing cosmic print as an accent piece rather than the main event. It’s way more sophisticated, which honestly makes me a little sad for 22-year-old me who thought subtlety was overrated.

But here’s what’s interesting about this particular revival – it’s not just nostalgia. Like, when Y2K fashion came back, it was pretty straightforwardly about Gen Z discovering an aesthetic they’d missed the first time around. The galaxy print thing feels more complicated because it’s happening across generations. You’ve got the people like me who lived through it the first time, plus younger designers who were teenagers during the original trend and are now reinterpreting it, plus actual Gen Z kids who think cosmic prints are this cool new aesthetic they’ve discovered.

I was talking to my coworker about this – she’s maybe five years younger than me and was apparently really into galaxy print in high school. “I never fully got over it,” she admitted. “Like, I stopped wearing it because everyone said it was tacky, but I always thought the prints were genuinely beautiful. Now I can wear them again without feeling embarrassed about it.”

That’s the thing I keep coming back to – maybe galaxy print wasn’t actually bad? Maybe we just got collectively embarrassed about liking something that was seen as too digital, too youthful, too unserious for “real” fashion. The aesthetic itself – cosmic imagery, color gradients, that dreamy space-age vibe – is actually pretty timeless. It was just the execution and cultural context that made it feel dated.

The revival also coincides with this broader trend toward maximalism and color after years of everyone wearing beige and calling it “elevated basics.” There’s something refreshing about cosmic prints after being told that the height of sophistication is a $200 oatmeal-colored sweater. Sometimes you want to look like you’re dressed for intergalactic travel instead of a very expensive meditation retreat.

I’ve been experimenting with incorporating cosmic elements back into my wardrobe, but like, strategically. Found this vintage scarf with a subtle galaxy print at a thrift store in Hawthorne – it’s clearly from the original trend era but the colors are muted enough that it doesn’t scream “2013 Tumblr girl.” I’ve been wearing it with simple black outfits as a way to test the waters without fully committing to the cosmic lifestyle again.

The response has been interesting. Older fashion people seem confused or mildly horrified, like I’m wearing a relic from a time they’d rather forget. But younger people and my peers who remember the original trend are genuinely excited about it. “Oh my god, I love that you’re doing galaxy print again,” a friend said when she saw the scarf. “I’ve been wanting to break out my old cosmic stuff but wasn’t sure if it was too soon.”

Maybe that’s the real appeal of this revival – it’s permission to like things we were told were embarrassing. Fashion has this way of making you feel ashamed for past choices, like every trend you participated in becomes evidence of your poor judgment once it goes out of style. But seeing galaxy print treated seriously again makes me think… why did we decide it was so terrible in the first place?

The technical quality has definitely improved since the original trend. Back then, a lot of cosmic prints were just digital photos heat-transferred onto cheap fabric that would fade after three washes. The new versions use better printing techniques, higher quality materials, and more sophisticated color palettes. It’s like comparing the cosmic print we wanted in 2013 to what we actually got at the time.

I’m still not ready to go full galaxy again – those days of cosmic leggings as everyday wear are probably behind me. But I’m appreciating this more thoughtful approach to space-age aesthetics. It feels like fashion growing up alongside the people who loved these prints the first time around. We’re older now, supposedly wiser, definitely more careful about trend participation. But maybe that just means we can do galaxy print better this time.

The revival also says something about how our relationship with digital culture has evolved. In 2013, “internet fashion” was still kind of niche – something that existed parallel to mainstream fashion rather than being integrated with it. Now there’s no separation. Digital aesthetics are just aesthetics, and something being popular online doesn’t automatically disqualify it from being taken seriously by traditional fashion institutions.

So yeah, galaxy print is back. Not exactly the way it was, but in a form that acknowledges both its original appeal and its cultural baggage. Whether it sticks around this time or flames out again remains to be seen. But for now, I’m enjoying the permission to appreciate cosmic beauty without irony, even if I’m doing it with a lot more restraint than 22-year-old me would have managed.

And honestly? Maybe that cosmic optimism is exactly what we need right now. After years of neutral minimalism and “quiet luxury” and all the other ways fashion has tried to make us disappear into beige sophistication, there’s something genuinely radical about wearing the galaxy on your sleeve. Or your pants. Or your very carefully chosen vintage scarf that you definitely didn’t dig out of storage the minute you saw those runway photos.