The Endless Carousel of What’s “In”
(and why social media won’t let us get off)
You ever notice how the internet can take something you didn’t even know existed, something you couldn’t have described to save your life, and in about a week, give or take, make it feel like an essential part of being a functioning human in modern society?
Like, one Monday morning, you’re just drinking your coffee, scrolling in that zombie way we all do, and suddenly, your feed is littered with Labubu dolls. You’ve never seen them before, never thought, “You know what’s missing from my life? A small, wide-eyed goblin creature made of vinyl or whatever,” and yet, somehow, you start thinking maybe you do need one.
And not because you love collectibles or quirky figurines, but because everyone else seems to have one, and if you don’t, you’re somehow missing the memo. It’s like watching everyone in the room laugh at a joke you didn’t hear. And suddenly, there’s that little whisper: maybe I should just get one, so I’m not the only one left out.
To be crystal clear, I have nothing against Labubu dolls. They’re actually kind of cute in that strange, chaotic way only they can manage. They’re not the villain here. But you have to admit, they are also the perfect case study for how social media takes trends and inflates them into this social oxygen that we all have to breathe.
For a short while, the trend is everywhere. Instagram reels, TikTok edits, unboxings on YouTube, snaps, you name it, and you can’t open your phone without tripping over it. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. Poof.
It’s especially funny because what comes next, owning the thing after the trend dies, becomes almost embarrassing. Remember that joke you couldn’t hear? Imagine hearing it after that laughing long after everyone else has stopped laughing. It can often feel like that. Like, “Oh, you still have that? Wow. That’s so last season. It’s kind of over.”
Those phrases (“last season”, “out of style”, “over”) are such a bizarre social construct. It doesn’t mean your item is at all defective. It means the imaginary committee that decies what’s “cool” decided to close that chapter. And now, you’re left holding the bag (sometimes literally) wondering how you got swept into this cycle.
Here’s the thing: trend-based fashion isn’t new. Before social media, trends still came and went. In the ’90s, you’d see them in magazines or maybe from a celebrity on TV. The only difference was they were often concentrated in certain spaces, and if you weren’t actively paying attention, they could pass you by without much impact on your life. True, not as easily, but definitely not as bad as it is now with social media at its peak.
The way social media works now, you can be the least fashion-conscious person in the world and still get ambushed. You could be on TikTok for cooking videos or on Instagram to look at your cousin’s vacation pictures, and still, somehow, a $500 “it” bag or a pair of wildly impractical shoes will find its way into your feed.
And the thing is, social media doesn’t just show you trends; it sells them. Actually, it sells their urgency. It’s not “Here’s something you might like,” like it often parades itself as showing; it’s more “Here’s what everyone is wearing right now, and if you don’t have it, you’re behind.” The emphasis is always on now. Which means you’re very likely to buy something not because you genuinely love it or because it fits your style or your values, but because you’re afraid of missing the boat.
And the boat, in this case, is moving fast. Sometimes you have just a few weeks before the next trend knocks the current one overboard. The lifespan of a style or product used to be a season; now it’s a fleeting moment between algorithmic updates.
From a sustainability standpoint, this is chaos. The fashion equivalent of fast food, if you will. Quick, cheap in the short term, and ultimately disposable. Not disposable because the item falls apart, but because the social value expires. Trends this fast mean items are bought, paraded around for a hot minute, and then shoved into the back of the closet, or worse, thrown out.
Even when the item itself isn’t inherently “bad”, maybe it’s well-made, maybe it could last years, the perception that it’s old or passé means it doesn’t get used. And so the cycle continues: buy, display, discard, repeat.
This is why sustainable or circular fashion struggles to survive in the current climate. Sustainability asks for longevity, for us to wear, repair, and reimagine things over years. Social media asks for immediacy, for us to wear things in their exact moment of peak trendiness, then retire them. These two timelines couldn’t be more at odds. It’s like asking a sprinter and a marathoner to run the same race at the same pace. One of them’s going to be miserable.
The Labubu thing might seem trivial, but the psychology is the same with everything else: viral handbags, specific shoe silhouettes, microtrends in denim, even nail polish colors. Social media amplifies these things to the point where they feel socially mandatory. You end up with things you don’t even like, because somewhere between your thumb scrolling and your brain processing, the algorithm convinced you you needed them. And when the dust settles, you’re left with a bunch of “what was I thinking?” purchases.
And maybe the saddest part is that we all kind of know this is happening, and yet we’re still in it. And I think that could, in part, be because the system is more about selling belonging than it is about selling belongings. When you have the thing, you feel “in.” And when you don’t, you feel like you’re standing outside the party looking in the window. And it can be very lonely saying no to a moment everyone else is sharing.
So I guess my question, to myself as much as to anyone reading this, is: what would happen if we just… didn’t? If we let a trend pass us by, even if it’s all over our feed? If we could look at a Labubu or a pair of viral sneakers and say, “Cute, but not for me,” without feeling like we’re missing out?
I think that’s the real sustainable choice. Because if we can train ourselves to pause, to ask, “Do I love this or do I just love that everyone else loves it?” we might not only save money and reduce waste… we might also save ourselves from that inevitable moment of looking at our purchases and wondering, “Why did I even buy this?”
And if you think about it that way, then saving the planet probably starts from saving our sanity.
Written by Queen for I Will Circle Back.
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