The Death of the Muse

Photography by Sophie Dunlap

The muse is missing. Designers are trying to keep up with the new digital wave while boring us at the same time. The algorithm pushes aesthetics fast enough to not let anyone stand out. Everything is trending. All the time. Until it’s “cheugy” and outdated and is placed right back in the trend cycle after a few years. We scroll through thousands of interchangeable “It-girls” who all own the same chunky resin bangles and lightweight transparent ponchos. Their outfits are cute, but their names escape us.

There used to be faces you could point to–individual styles that carried actual cultural weight. The 1960s had Twiggy–model, actress, the poster girl for London’s Youthquake–with her lashes and pixie cut. It was an era where the fashion revolution was driven by youth culture. She experimented with androgynous silhouettes, loose fitting mini dresses, psychedelic patterns, Go-Go boots–inspiring what it meant to be “modern” and redefining glamour in the UK. Diana Ross, in the following decade, was a different kind of muse: sequined gowns, bold stage presence, disco, glamour. She mastered the mix of confidence and elegance. Designers and the general public were inspired by the essence of her party girl era spent in Studio 54. 

By the 2010s, the muse had already shapeshifted into the It-girl. Alexa Chung became one of our last muses. Her Hunter boots and barbour jacket combo was premiered at Glastonbury–suddenly she was on everyone’s blogs and Tumblr. Once she wore ballet flats or Peter Pan collars, the masses did too. Mulberry named a bag after her, collections built around her, Arctic Monkeys wrote songs about her, and being effortlessly chic became the new goal. She achieved what past muses did: Contradiction. You got the sense that she wore what she wanted and didn’t use a stylist (unlike many of the “It-girls” today.) 

Muses were singular and that’s lost now. If you scroll through social media, the flow is reversed and style follows the internet when it should be the other way around. We follow different fonts of the exact same thing and each one has a random collation of words that labels the “aesthetic”: english frazzled woman, coquette academia. Perhaps because it’s easier for brands and influencers to circulate a “core”. 

Today’s “It-girls” aim for relatability and feeds the impulse to overconsume–It comes with specific shopping lists and mood boards. It’s purchasable. Designers now look at hashtags for inspiration. Miu Miu leans into indie sleaze, Diesel pushes out more and more Y2K. Fast fashion brands like Zara and Shein encourage, and make it easily accessible for people to “dress the part”–to fit into circles they identify with or would like to. With an aesthetic, it’s so searchable and marketable that it gives less space to interpret or “mess up”. It promotes “personal style” as defined by “core” groups rather than individuality. Now with the constant churning of microtrends, what we’ve lost is untouchability. Muses once existed at a distance. They’re surprising and sometimes unlikable–you couldn’t fully become them.

Nataya Subuwo