There’s a particular shade of beige—more putty, really—that seems eternally bound to Hailey Bieber. It’s on her oversized coats, her tiny tanks, those alarmingly ubiquitous leggings. A non-color that somehow screams “moneyed ease.” And it’s become emblematic of a larger question swirling around Ms. Bieber: is she actually dictating Gen Z style, or is she simply a very beautiful, very visible blank slate?
One could argue—and many do, in the breathless, hyperbolic cadence of TikTok commentary—that Bieber is the reigning queen of “Elevated Basics.” A term so ubiquitous it’s practically meaningless. Yet, scroll through any social media platform and you’ll see her influence: the slicked-back buns, the gold hoops the size of small planets, the uncanny ability to make a $4,000 leather bomber jacket look like something you’d find crumpled at the bottom of a college laundry bag.
I’ll admit, there’s a certain allure to it. The studied nonchalance. The way she can pair those aforementioned leggings with, say, a vintage Chanel blazer and suddenly it feels fresh, almost subversive. It’s aspirational, certainly. But is it innovative?
I recall a time, not so long ago, when fashion felt genuinely exciting, dangerous even. The early days of McQueen, the raw energy of Galliano. These were designers who used clothing to provoke, to challenge, to tell stories that transcended mere trends. They were artists, not influencers.
Which brings us back to Ms. Bieber and her carefully curated feed of perfectly-lit, seemingly effortless outfits. There’s no denying her influence. When she wore that brown vintage Ferragamo dress—the one with the strategically placed cut-outs—practically every fast-fashion retailer had a knock-off within weeks. But does that make her a style icon? Or simply a very savvy businesswoman?
The line, of course, is blurry. And perhaps that’s the point. In the age of social media, where image is everything and authenticity is a carefully constructed brand, the very definition of a “style icon” has shifted. It’s no longer about dictating trends from on high, but rather about curating a personal aesthetic that resonates with a particular audience.
And resonate she does. Millions of young women, myself sometimes included, find ourselves drawn to Bieber’s brand of minimalist luxury. We covet her seemingly effortless cool, her ability to make even the most basic pieces feel covetable. But there’s a hollowness to it, a sense that beneath the perfectly curated facade lies…well, what exactly?
This isn’t a criticism, not entirely. Bieber is a product of her time, a generation raised on the curated perfection of Instagram. She understands the power of image, the allure of aspiration. And she wields it masterfully.
But as I scroll through endless images of beige sweaters and oversized blazers, I can’t help but feel a pang of longing for something more. For a time when fashion was about more than just looking effortlessly cool. A time when it dared to challenge, to provoke, to tell stories that went beyond the perfectly filtered frame.
Perhaps that time has passed. Or perhaps, like a vintage find waiting to be rediscovered, it’s simply waiting in the wings for its moment to shine again.
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