If you’ve had any recent business in the “fashion” section of Instagram (the word “fashion” is herein used loosely to include 14-year-olds with aesthetically pleasing pics of Gucci bags, Influencers Doing Influential Things, and the feed of that one girl from your friend group who was always been a little too narcissistic for her own good) (spoiler: that last girl is me), you’ve undoubtedly been noticing a trend.
Maybe trend is the wrong word for it. At this point, it’s so uninspired and methodical that it’s more formulaic than suggestive.
The equation for the perfect summer lük, according to Instagram, goes something like this:
A vaguely French-inspired dress (probably chiffon, almost definitely a wrap style)
+ Some variation of a white sneaker (bonus points for artful scuffing; the pros recommend a quick trip on the C train during rush hour to achieve a #natural look) + A stupidly overpriced straw bag = Summer Sartorial Superiority
I blame Tumblr. And Jeanne Damas.
In the name of journalism (and the H&M sale that bred this dress), I did what any hard-hitting reporter would do and took to the streets to test drive this phenomenon first hand. It was wild. I laughed. I cried. I flashed most of lower Manhattan.
Here is what I discovered:
1. If I had known dresses were this comfortable, I would have listened to my mother telling me to be girlier a long time ago.
2. There is a certain confidence born out of wearing something that you know looks good. Like real-person good, not just I-concocted-this-outfit-at-3AM-and-I’m-75%-sure-it-works good. Passing storefronts? Mirrors in disguise. Crossing the street in front of traffic after the red hand stopped flashing? You’re welcome, taxis, for delaying your trip to grace you with a glimpse of my stunning ensemble. Is that person staring at me because I have my dress stuck in my underwear? No, it’s because they’re wondering what Instagram celeb I am.
3. Of course, the downside of that confidence is your blindness to the truth that yes, you did just walk 13 blocks with part of your dress artfully tucked into the waistband of your underwear. Fab.
4. People don’t ask you for directions because they surmise that anyone who is awake and looking semi put-together whilst running around Soho at 7 in the morning on a Sunday is either a) a tourist or b) a blogger, neither of which is a breed of humans you particularly want to interact with.
5. You might be gripped by a sudden desire to up and move to the French countryside. This is how I came to find myself in the cheese aisle of Trader Joes for 20 minutes trying to determine what the fuck the difference between double crème and tripe crème brie was before grabbing a block of white cheddar and booking it out of there.
6. Instagram Fashion is on to something with the whole sneaker thing. Not to be dramatic, but these Superegas literally dragged my feet from the edge of inappropriate footwear-related death and fully resuscitated them.
Stay tuned to next week’s hard-hitting SS17 investigation: Is holding a half-peeled orange in front of your crotch the next straw bag?