Last week, my 19-year-old cousin Zoe FaceTimed me in a state of fashion emergency. This isn’t unusual—I’m apparently the family’s designated style hotline—but her question caught me off guard.
“I need a black bonnet,” she announced before I could even say hello. “Like, an actual bonnet. Not a swim cap. Not a beanie. A bonnet-bonnet.”
I stared at my phone, coffee mug suspended halfway to my mouth. “Are you… joining a religious community I should know about?”
“God, no,” she laughed. “It’s for the Amish look. You know, TikTok? Plain People aesthetic? Everyone’s doing it.”
I did not, in fact, know. Despite spending an arguably unhealthy portion of my life keeping up with fashion trends, I had somehow missed that Gen Z was suddenly taking style inspiration from the technology-rejecting, simplicity-embracing religious communities of rural Pennsylvania and Ohio. The irony of learning about this via FaceTime was not lost on me.
After a deep dive into what my editor likes to call “journalistic research” but was actually just me falling down a TikTok rabbit hole for three days straight, I can confirm: Amish-inspired fashion is indeed having a moment. And it’s more complex—and frankly more interesting—than just another random internet microtrend.
The hashtag #Amishcore has over 28 million views on TikTok. #PlainPeople and #CottageAmish are not far behind. Scroll through and you’ll find earnest tutorials on how to achieve the “perfect plain look”: long, solid-colored dresses with aprons; high necklines; centre-parted hair under caps or bonnets; sturdy, practical shoes; and absolutely zero accessories beyond perhaps a woven basket. The aesthetic embraces muted colours, natural fabrics, and a distinctly pre-industrial silhouette.
“I’m obsessed with this look because it feels both rebellious and peaceful at the same time,” says content creator @SimplySamantha in a video with 1.2 million views. She then proceeds to show her OOTD (outfit of the day): a navy blue midi dress with a Peter Pan collar, white apron, black tights, and lace-up boots. Her hair is tucked under a white cap, and she’s carrying a wicker basket filled with farmers market vegetables. The overall effect is somewhere between Little House on the Prairie cosplay and something you might see from a high-concept Comme des Garçons collection.
My first instinct, admittedly, was mild skepticism verging on eye-rolling. Is this just the latest example of internet culture mining aesthetics from religious communities without understanding or respecting their context? Are we witnessing cottagecore’s even more specific final form? And is this trend maybe, possibly, just a little bit problematic?
But the more creators I watched and the more fashion historians I spoke with, the more nuanced the picture became. This isn’t just about appropriating a look—there seems to be something deeper happening, a genuine yearning for the values these clothes represent.
“Fashion has always had this pendulum swing between excess and restraint,” explains Dr. Einav Rabinovitch-Fox, a fashion historian at Case Western Reserve University. “After periods of maximalism, conspicuous consumption, and hypersexualized clothing, we often see a return to simplicity, modesty, and utility. The Amish aesthetic represents perhaps the ultimate version of that counterswing.”
The timing makes sense. After the louder-is-better Y2K revival, the in-your-face Barbiecore moment, and the general sensory overload of modern digital life, there’s something appealing about clothes that whisper rather than shout.
“I started dressing this way because I was just tired,” explains 22-year-old Mia Chen, who I found through her popular #AmishTinyHouse videos and convinced to chat with me over (ironically) Instagram. “Tired of fast fashion, tired of trying to keep up with trends, tired of clothes falling apart after three washes. I wanted something that felt timeless and intentional.”
Chen, who lives in a decidedly un-Amish downtown Los Angeles apartment, has embraced a wardrobe of solid-colored linen dresses, simple cotton blouses, and handmade aprons. Her hair is typically pulled back under a kerchief or cap. Nothing in her closet plugs into an outlet, requires batteries, or needs to be updated seasonally.
“It started as an aesthetic choice, but it’s become something more meaningful,” she tells me. “These clothes force you to slow down. You can’t just throw them in the dryer. You can’t scroll through your phone while wearing an apron—you actually have to use your hands for something productive.”
This gets at what might be the real appeal of the Amish-inspired look in 2025: it’s not just about the clothes themselves but about the lifestyle they represent—one that prioritizes simplicity, community, craftsmanship, and disconnection from the digital world.
In an age where many young people feel crushed by economic uncertainty, climate anxiety, and social media pressure, there’s something powerfully appealing about a community that has deliberately chosen to opt out of modern capitalism’s rat race. The Amish don’t have Instagram. They don’t worry about their FICO scores. They don’t lie awake doomscrolling through news that makes them feel helpless. Their clothes reflect these values: practical, durable, community-oriented rather than individualistic.
“I think people are attracted to the idea of wearing your values,” says Sarah Meister, a trend forecaster at cultural consultancy The Future Laboratory. “The Amish aesthetic isn’t just a look—it’s a rejection of disposable fast fashion, of constant technological upgrades, of the pressure to always be visible and performing online.”
Of course, there’s a glaring contradiction in fetishizing digital disconnection on TikTok, of all places. Most Amish communities forbid not just smartphones but electricity itself, making the whole #AmishTok phenomenon deeply ironic. Many creators acknowledge this tension, using it as a jumping-off point to discuss what we might learn from Amish values without fully embracing their religious restrictions.
“I’m not trying to be Amish,” says Chen. “I’m trying to take the parts of their philosophy that resonate with me—simplicity, intentionality, community—and incorporate them into my life in a way that makes sense for who I am.”
This selective borrowing has unsurprisingly sparked debates about cultural appropriation and religious respect. The Amish, after all, don’t dress plainly as a fashion statement—their clothing reflects deeply held religious beliefs about modesty, humility, and separation from the modern world.
“There’s a fine line between appreciation and appropriation,” warns Dr. Steven Nolt, a professor at Elizabethtown College and author of several books on Amish culture. “The danger is treating someone’s religious practice as a costume or aesthetic to be consumed.”
Some Amish-inspired content creators have tried to address this by educating their followers about the actual communities they’re drawing inspiration from. Videos explaining the theological reasons behind plain dress or the diversity within Amish and Mennonite communities often accompany the outfit posts. Others partner with Amish craftspeople to source authentic aprons, caps, or baskets, directing their followers toward these small businesses rather than fast-fashion knockoffs.
But is mainstream fashion taking note? Surprisingly, yes. While I haven’t seen explicit “Amish-inspired” collections on major runways, the influence is unmistakable in recent shows. The Row’s last three collections might as well have been titled “Minimalist Amish Luxury,” with their muted palette, modest silhouettes, and complete rejection of logos or visible technology. Lemaire’s emphasis on practicality and craftsmanship echoes plain principles. Even Phoebe Philo’s highly anticipated new label has elements that wouldn’t look out of place in Lancaster County, if you squint and ignore the four-figure price tags.
“High fashion has always drawn inspiration from religious dress,” notes Dr. Rabinovitch-Fox. “Balenciaga was influenced by Catholic clerical garments. Designers like Yohji Yamamoto have referenced Hasidic Jewish clothing. The Amish aesthetic offers what luxury brands are increasingly selling: a rejection of conspicuous consumption in favour of quiet quality.”
There’s another element that makes Amish inspiration particularly relevant now: sustainability. Plain communities have been practicing slow fashion for centuries, long before it became a marketing buzzword. Clothes are made to last generations, often sewn by hand from natural materials. Garments are repaired rather than discarded. Styles don’t change with the seasons, eliminating the concept of something being “so last year.”
“When you look at the environmental impact of the fashion industry, the Amish approach starts to seem less quaint and more revolutionary,” says Meister. “Rejecting trend cycles and embracing durability is actually quite radical in 2025.”
But what about the actual experience of dressing in this style? After spending so much time researching this trend, I decided to try it myself for a day. I dug out a navy cotton midi dress with a high neck from the back of my closet, tied my grandmother’s old apron around my waist, pulled my hair back under a simple scarf, and headed out for a day of errands in Brooklyn.
The first thing I noticed: pockets. Real, functional pockets in my apron. Revolutionary. The second thing: people treated me differently. Store clerks were more polite. A barista called me “ma’am” (I’m 32, but still). A construction worker who would normally have something to say kept his thoughts to himself. There was a certain invisibility that came with the outfit—not in a negative way, but in the sense of not being constantly evaluated or sexualized.
By afternoon, I’d grown surprisingly attached to my apron pockets, which held my phone, wallet, keys, and lip balm without the need for a purse. The simplicity felt freeing. The modest cut of my dress meant I wasn’t constantly adjusting or tugging at anything. I didn’t cheque my reflection in store windows because, well, what was there to cheque? Nothing was going to slip, ride up, or need repositioning.
When I got home and changed back into my usual clothes—high-waisted jeans, a cropped sweater, gold jewelry—I felt almost overwhelmed by choices and details. Did this necklace work with this neckline? Were these jeans still in style? Should I tuck or untuck? There was a mental load to my regular wardrobe that I hadn’t fully appreciated until it was temporarily removed.
I’m not saying I’m converting to plain dress (though I might keep the apron in rotation purely for pocket purposes). But I better understand the appeal now. In a world that constantly demands we optimize ourselves—be sexier, more stylish, more eye-catching, more everything—there’s something revolutionary about clothes designed to free you from that pressure entirely.
As for my cousin Zoe and her bonnet quest? I directed her to some ethical sources for authentic Amish-made items rather than the fast-fashion versions popping up on Amazon. She ended up in an hour-long phone conversation with an Amish woman who sews caps in Ohio, learning about the different styles worn by different plain communities and the reasons behind them.
“It was actually really cool,” she told me later. “She explained that it’s not just about following rules—it’s about placing community above individual expression. Which, like, is kind of the opposite of what fashion usually teaches us.”
Maybe that’s the real appeal of this unlikely trend. In a culture that has elevated individual expression to an almost religious value of its own, there’s something thought-provoking about a style that deliberately rejects that premise. The irony of expressing that rejection through TikTok, the ultimate platform for individualistic expression, just adds another layer to contemplate.
So if you see someone on the subway in a plain dress and bonnet scrolling through their iPhone, don’t be too quick to judge the contradiction. Fashion has always been about balancing opposing forces—tradition and innovation, expression and restraint, belonging and standing out. The Amish aesthetic might be the most literal manifestation of those tensions we’ve seen in a while.
And if nothing else, those apron pockets really are fantastic.
