I t started with shoes. The shoes were everywhere. Nike Frees to be specific.
They were worn by emerging artists, Brooklyn baristas, club kids, creative directors, corporate interns and, every once in a while, someone on their way to the gym. It was an abrupt flip. This was an era that championed the rustic authenticity of Red Wing boots, the eclecticism of vintage store finds, the distressed texture of selvedge denim and urban lumberjack flannel.
It was the era of the hipster. But suddenly the anodyne microplastic sheen of athleisure was everywhere. Why was New York no longer interested in telling a story of provenance and character? Why had their clothes become conspicuously blank? The answer — according to my trend-forecasting company — was normcore.
Like.
