Brightsidingcore > Normcore

Today we’re talking PERSONAL STYLE.

I recently read (and re-read) this Interview breakdown of Normcore on the plane back from Spain, and it got me thinking about personal style. 

I remember the first time I heard about normcore. It was 2016, and my friend Kira, who worked in fashion at the time, used it to describe one of her bosses. I didn’t need further explanation; immediately, an image of a pre-clean-girl-era Clean Girl crystalized in my mind’s eye. It was peak Everlane era, after all, and the epitome of style was nonchalance. Think boxy white tee, Levis, and maybe a simple gold necklace. It was a complete rejection of mid-2010s shopping-mall-maximalism; you know, the J. Crew bubble necklaces, Forever 21 striped peplum tops, etc. ~shudders~

At the time, to me, normcore was aspirational. I’ve never come CLOSE to embodying this Caroline Bassett Kennedy level of effortless cool, tried as I did to project for that on Tumblr. Normcore is essentially a uniform of simple, high-end basics that demonstrate you’re beyond trends.

I always wanted to fit into this neat, chic, The Row-esque box, even before The Row swept our collective consciousness, but this was never going to be my destiny in this lifetime. I have a distinct memory of shopping for a pair of Nikes in college that perfectly demonstrates this. 

It was right before spring break in 2015. I was preparing for my crew team’s annual spring training trip to Clemson, South Carolina, assembling my “kit”. I needed a pair of new running shoes, and I went to the iconic Poughkeepsie Galleria, ready to pull the trigger on a pair of chic black Nikes, just like the ones the hot, rich Lacrosse players wore around campus. But when push came to shove, I left the store with a pair in a bright teal that somehow worked with the rest of my mix-matched athleisure at the time. I loved that pair of shoes - I spent much of that trip admiring them and having fun “styling” them with other bright pieces, like an epic Patagonia fleece with neon bugs printed all over. 

This was the first time my awareness of personal style as a concept - and something that I was consciously creating - as opposed to style as something I was just participating in via trends - ever crossed my mind. As I packed those teal Nike’s with the rest of my spring training kit, I thought, hmm. This is a vibe. And this is not what everyone else is doing. 

My style evolution has been a lifelong pursuit. Growing up in small, rural Connecticut, the joy of my LIFE was going to the mall with my Grandma and coming home with a new fit from Limited Too (which I wore, let’s just say, for way longer than was cool). I LOVED getting dressed up for school dances, playing dress-up with friends, and reading fashion magazines. In 2007, I somehow managed to get my hands on a copy of Vogue’s September Issue and worshipped its glossy pages.

I missed some prime sartorial experimentation years from 14-18 because I spent my high school years donning the adorable plaid uniform of my boarding school (which I loved). The most I got to flex stylistically was with hair accessories - which I DID, trust - or on long weekends, mostly spent with my friend Kim, where we’d try to emulate the high-twee of Zooey Deschanel, who was all over our Tumblr pages at the time.

So when I got to college, I was shooting in the dark with whatever I had from my high school arsenal of “civilian clothes” - mostly cringe-prep runoff from the Lily Pulitzer sale section and whatever I could afford to snag from Poughkeepsie’s TJ Maxx. 

My staples were memorable, though, and I began to develop a reputation around campus for some of my standout pieces - a bright purple Patagonia puffer coat for the Hudson Valley winters, baby blue Uggs, neon (monogrammed, shudder again) Nike shorts, etc. In retrospect, I really put my own spin on my student-athlete wardrobe. Let me tell you, I didn’t necessarily FEEL fashionable at the time, but I just had this visceral need to distinguish myself from my peers with my clothes. In this time of extreme growing pains (missing my idyllic high school, reeling from my parent’s divorce, breaking up with my high school sweetheart, FUN times) – expressing myself with a vibrant wardrobe was like a balm to my little heart. 

This was just the tip of the self-discovery-through-fashion iceberg, though. When I moved to Ridgewood, Queens, in 2016 (my roommate and I told everyone it was Bushwick), I’m sure you can only IMAGINE the fashion journey lay ahead for me as I pulled up to our 700-square-foot apartment with a Vera Bradley duffel bag and Lululemon leggings. Someone, somewhere, sitting in a nearby dive bar ordered a whiskey shot at that very moment and sighed, “there goes the neighborhood”. 

The subsequent years were a fun adventure in finding myself in more ways than just through fashion. I had a ton of fun getting dressed for my first job out of college at an advertising agency, although I made plenty of faux-paus to be sure. Not every look was a home run, but some of them were, and I was grateful to be working in a space where I could be expressive with my clothes and others were too. I was THIS close to pursuing a career in commercial real estate after school, and I can’t imagine I’d have had as much fun with my style in a traditional business-casual environment (but who knows!). 

Through this experimentation, I started to develop a uniform of my own. My friend Anna-Christina taught me to thrift like a proper New Yorker - and I mean proper. Forget these highly curated vintage stores (just kidding, I love those too) - she would drag my ass through the TRENCHES of the Salvation Army on 96th & Broadway and randomly deliver bushels of pieces to my apartment that she’d found on her laps of the Upper West Side Housing Works Circuit (about 10% of these were slam dunks. The rest got re-donated to Housing Works eventually, lol).

I gravitated towards Vans, brightly colored denim, and fun accessories (weirdly a lot of like, bedazzled neck scarfs in this era for me??). Then, the capstone of my collection became my bright orange Penny Board, which I got on Poshmark for $36. I taught myself how to use it and became infatuated with my new mode of transportation. Like the teal Nikes, it somehow just worked with so much of my wardrobe, and I loved tucking it under my arm as I was leaving the office to head out and see wherever the wind wanted to take me that night. My wardrobe was expansive, but whatever I was wearing was always durable enough for me to rip home at the end of the night on my skateboard. 

Then, in 2018, I started working at Google. When I got the job, my life changed - and I was so excited about the new chapter that lay ahead of me. I rolled into the orientation that September, the EPITOME of school spirit, wearing bright yellow Levis and had my signature f*ck a** bob air-dried to perfection. 

Those first few months, I was sure my colorful self-expression would be the key to finding my community there. I had fun strolling up to work in all of my favorite conversation pieces. Unfortunately, though, I was a rainbow fish in a sea of minimalists clad in Common Projects sneakers and the latest high-end denim. I had an extremely hard time making friends that first year and an even harder time learning how to do my job well. I was sure the answer to my woes was to conform stylistically, or at least blend in, so I shoved my bright beloveds to the back of my closet. 

I tried normcore on for real, ushering in a capsule collection of blacks, greys, and taupes - opting for simple pieces from Madewell and Everlane that would help me fit in better with the peers I was having such a hard time connecting with. Around this time, I was gifted a pair of Golden Goose sneakers from my ex’s mom, and I was SURE that would be the golden ticket to friendship and acceptance at Google. 

I wanted so badly to fit in, but I was just a sartorial maximalist in sheep’s clothing. If anything, pushing my true colors down made connecting with people harder because my full self was tucked away neatly in the back of my closet. It was a hard and confusing time for me, and honestly, the pandemic was a relief in me in some ways because I could hang up my normcore mask and stop trying so hard to fit in. Granted, as we all did, I spent the following year or so in sweatpants and athletic shorts, but putting the Everlane wide-leg jeans away for good was a relief. 

It wasn’t until the middle of 2021 that I consciously reclaimed my personal style again. I had broken up with my then-boyfriend, moved home to Connecticut, and suddenly had a lot of time on my hands to … think about what I wanted that next chapter of my life to feel like, look like, etc. This is when things got fun. I was back to dressing for me—the color of that season for me was bright poppy orange, and I loved it. Dressing for ME became a ritual, and a part of my day that I absolutely adored.

In December of 2021 when I moved back to the Lower East Side in New York, I really found my stride - in style and also in life. I donated the remnants of my attempted normcore days and started investing in pieces that felt like a “full body yes”, like my hot pink Big-Bud Press overalls and denim from Citizens of Humanity that actually made me feel GOOD about myself. I went full-send on color and pieces that sparked joy. I’d spend my nights, alone, playing dress-up with my elaborate wardrobe and dreaming up outfits to wear to work again, promising never to play it small sartorially again. 

I finally began to find my people who saw me for me and celebrated my style. It became something I was known for, and I loved that. Now, my friends will send me things and say, “This is so Bogs” on the regular, and I LOVE IT because I’ve cultivated such a specific sense of self-expression at this point. My closet is full of fantastic vintage finds that might not make sense to anyone else, but make me feel like ME. 

Personal style is something that takes a long time to develop, but, as with anything in life, my advice would be to follow your instincts. We all know what it feels like to put on something that gives you that “full body yes” - the excitement, the giddiness, the “holy shit”. And if you haven’t - I promise, it’s out there. Focus on what feels good FOR YOU. Before you even look in the mirror after trying something on, ask yourself first, how do I FEEL in this? Don’t be afraid to wear that bedazzled neckscarf. Cringe is a part of the game. Just follow your heart.

It’s such a gift to live in these bodies that we get to dress up however we want. Embrace it, baby <3