![]() Spread across various Substacks, podcasts and anonymous Twitter accounts, here’s a side of the internet where people with art jobs, Elf Bars and stimulant prescriptions mark their allegiance to online culture by listening to reactionary podcasts like Red Scare, wearing cross pendants and making self-aware jokes about being God’s favourite. It’s unsurprising that these clothes initially captivated the attention of New York downtowners. But on closer inspection, they reflect a wider shift away from pop culture towards the atomised, frenzied world of the internet. Balancing irony and sincerity, these garments appear, on the surface, deceptively simple: tees, hoodies and bags plastered with slogans in a basic Times New Roman or crude edits of pop-culture characters. It’s no Telfar bag in Dimes Square but the garments embody the same self-referential and ironic aesthetic prevalent in memes, with brands such as Praying, Maxine Beiny and OGBFF gaining cult-like followings, combining internet speak with distinct online personas catered to grab the attention of even the smoothest brains. Nowadays, memes are leaking out of our phone screens and onto the streets, as online vernacular taken from social media feeds is being made into mimetic slogans and provocative silk-screened graphics. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the story and its nihilistic, shitty irony would serve as a useful metaphor for a trendy fashion taking over the city – and online. ![]() A few months ago, I sat at a Dunkin’ Donuts in New York while a friend told me about a prank they wanted to pull: to buy a fake Telfar bag, place it in the middle of Dimes Square and watch the inevitable rush of twenty-something downtowners encircle said bag, only to discover that it’s been soiled by a steaming pile of dog shit.
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