Time Travel Exists – But Only for Women’s Fashion

Conservative fashion is taking over the fashion scene. Let’s get one thing straight – fashion is supposed to be about freedom, not flashbacks. So why does it suddenly feel like we’ve been shoved into a time machine headed straight for 1952? From TikTok tradwives to Cannes red carpet crackdowns, women’s clothing is under more scrutiny than ever – and not in a “hot or not” kind of way. We’re talking rules, restrictions and a rising wave of conservative aesthetics that are less about style and more about control. Welcome to the new era of “modesty culture,” where everyone’s obsessed with policing women’s bodies again, just this time in beige. This isn’t just a modesty trend – it’s time travel in women’s fashion.

The New Modesty Movement

Fashion is supposed to move forward, right? Apparently not if you’re a woman. Somewhere between the resurgence of prairie collars and the sudden obsession with modesty dressing, it seems like we’ve all been shoved into a very poorly dressed time machine – one operated by a man who thinks women belong in the kitchen, the chapel or covered head to toe in a shapeless frock.

Let’s be clear – we are in the middle of a fashion culture war, and the rising tide of conservatism isn’t just political – it’s personal and it’s on our backs. All across the globe, the runways and racks are being flooded with high necklines, long hemlines, puffed sleeves, corsets and silhouettes that whisper, or rather, scream – “don’t look at me unless you’re planning on marrying me.” Think “Little House on the Prairie” but make it cult-core.

What’s most alarming is how this “modesty renaissance” isn’t just a niche aesthetic – it’s rapidly being marketed as a virtue. Modest is the new chic, we’re told. But chic for whom? And at what cost?

Let’s rewind a bit – say, to 2016. Remember the orange-tinted hurricane that blew through American politics and left women’s rights scattered like confetti at a frat party? Since Donald Trump originally took office, there’s been a palpable shift. Women’s bodies became battlegrounds (again), their choices questioned (again), and their clothes policed (yes, again). From red states to red carpets, a narrative began creeping back in: that a woman’s worth could be measured by how “covered up” she is. And with Trump back in the Oval Office for the next three and a half years, the conservative cultural hangover he inspired is alive and dragging us deeper into petticoats and prayer bonnets on the daily.

It’s not that long dresses or blouses are inherently evil – wear what makes you feel good! The problem is the context. When fashion starts acting like a velvet-gloved morality clause, something’s rotten in the wardrobe. We’re seeing a rise in “covered is better” rhetoric, as if showing skin means you’re less intelligent, less pure or less respectable.

Fashion should be a playground, not a pulpit. So why are we being funnelled into silhouettes that feel less like statements and more like shackles?

Gym-Gate

Welcome to “Gym-Gate” – the most recent front in the ongoing war against women for simply existing in public. If you’ve opened TikTok anytime in the last month, you’ve probably stumbled across a man ranting in his car, or with a ring light and a podcast mic he absolutely didn’t need, along with a fragile ego, furiously going on about the “indecency” of women’s athletic apparel choices. 

Let’s be clear – this is the gym we’re talking about. The place where you go to sweat, squat and deadlift your existential rage. You’re telling me the problem is spandex?

Most modern women’s gym sets consist of… get ready for the scandal… a sports bra and leggings. Not lingerie. Not sheer mesh. Not your grandmother’s see-through nightgown. We’re talking functional, supportive, sweat-wicking, high-performance athletic wear. The kind of outfit designed to let you move, not to seduce Chad in the corner doing quarter-reps while staring at himself in the mirror.

But somewhere along the algorithm pipeline, insecure men decided that seeing a woman in gym clothes meant she was “asking for attention.” As if women go to the gym not to train, but to tempt. Newsflash – most women don’t even notice other people at the gym. They’re focused on their reps, their form, their playlists and avoiding eye contact with creepy guys who think glancing at a sports bra is some sort of threat to Western civilization. You can watch some of the ongoing conversations on the platform from various creators – BennyBoyBiz, FitWithVict, Niqutian, WompTomp, NataleeBFitness and the list goes on. 

And let’s talk about historical context, because this moral panic isn’t even original. Flashback to the 1980s – the era of neon dreams and Jane Fonda supremacy – when gym fashion included thong bodysuits, cut-out leotards, shiny spandex and leg warmers so aggressive they looked like wool snakes eating your calves. Women’s a**es were literally out in aerobics class, and no,  no one was on a soapbox demanding modesty. Where was the outrage then?

Now, nearly half a century later, a girl doing cable kickbacks in matching Gymshark is somehow indecent? We’ve regressed so far that breathable leggings are being called “provocative,” but in 1985, an entire VHS empire was built on butt-first fitness.

Let’s call this what it is – a cultural backslide wrapped in fake concern. Policing women’s gym attire isn’t about “respect” or “standards” – it’s about control. And frankly, if your focus at the gym is on someone else’s tank top instead of your own dumbbells, maybe you’re not working out hard enough.

Courtesy of Alana O’Herlihy 

Bikini Panic

If you thought the gym was the only place women were being told to cover up, welcome to the beach, where apparently, the mere sight of a bikini has now become a sociopolitical crisis. Yes, the girls can’t even sunbathe in peace anymore without becoming the centrepiece of another long-winded “What If I Were a Woman?” monologue from a man on TikTok.

Case in point – a now-viral video (you can watch it here) featuring a guy lamenting how if he were a woman, he’d feel “so uncomfortable” wearing a bikini because “everyone stares” and he’d feel “basically naked.” First of all, thanks for the insight, sir. We were all just dying to know what you’d do if you had breasts and a day pass to the beach.

But here’s the thing – the video isn’t even the worst part. It’s the internalized misogyny running rampant in the comments section, where the real damage is happening. Women – women! – flooding in to agree with him, claiming they’ve “never felt good” in a bikini, that it’s “always a horrible experience,” and that they feel “exposed and vulnerable.” … To that I say… That sounds like a you problem.

No one – I repeat, no one – is forcing you to wear a bikini. If you don’t like it, there are tankinis, one-pieces, rash guards, sarongs, t-shirts, wetsuits and literal beach tents – the world is your oyster. But don’t turn your personal discomfort into a universal moral campaign. Just because you feel awkward in a bikini doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to pack up our cheeky bottoms and call it modesty season.

Let’s be real – this isn’t about bikinis being “bad” – it’s about control, yet again. The problem with men and bikinis? They stare. Aggressively. Objectively. Obnoxiously. Instead of raising sons to respect boundaries, society’s solution seems to be – “Hey ladies, why don’t you just wear more clothes?” Cute.

But what’s more insidious is the problem with women and bikinis. Specifically, the way insecure women project their discomfort onto others, especially confident women. If you can’t walk on the beach without imagining everyone is judging you, that’s your internal monologue, not a global referendum on swimwear. Yet instead of doing the inner work, some women slap a moral label on their insecurity and call it “class,” “modesty,” or – the newest rebrand – “empowerment through covering up.” Girl, no. That’s not empowerment. That’s jealousy.

We’re witnessing the weaponization of insecurity. Instead of saying “wow, I wish I felt that good in a bikini,” the narrative becomes “she must be desperate for attention” or “she has no self-respect.” All because a woman dared to feel good in her own skin.

Let’s end this now – wear what you want. Bikinis aren’t oppressive, but telling women they shouldn’t wear them because some people are uncomfortable absolutely is. Conservative fashion is fine when it’s a choice, but when it’s rooted in guilt, shame, or projection, that’s not fashion. That’s fascism with a cute hemline.

Cannes You Not?

Ah, the Cannes Film Festival – where glamour meets cinema, and apparently, modesty guidelines now meet last-minute panic attacks. This year’s festival came with a surprise twist no one asked for – a brand new dress code that dropped the day before the event. Yes, you read that right. The. Day. Before. Imagine securing archival couture, flying in custom looks from halfway across the world and coordinating fittings, accessories, tailors and glam squads for months – only to find out with 24 hours’ notice that your client can’t wear it because Cannes decided to drop a puritan bomb on the red carpet.

Let’s not sugarcoat it – this wasn’t just a logistical disaster, it was a slap in the face to every stylist, designer and celebrity who had invested serious time, energy and art into that moment. But beyond the sheer rudeness, the guidelines themselves? Utterly absurd.

Among the new “rules” – No Nudity, No Transparent Fabrics, No Overly Voluminous Garments.

Apparently, Cannes has declared war on cleavage and couture silhouettes at the same time. God forbid someone wears a Schiaparelli bustier or a Valentino tulle explosion – you might offend a man in a tuxedo who’s never worn anything riskier than navy. This is a red carpet, not a convent retreat.

And the hypocrisy? Off. The. Charts. While Cannes is busy policing women’s fashion on the carpet, it has no problem showcasing graphic nudity on screen, as long as it’s for the male gaze, of course. Sexual liberation is fine as long as it’s directed by a man and served up under moody lighting. But when a woman dares to take control of her own image, when she wants to be seen and celebrated in her own way, suddenly it’s inappropriate.

Let’s call this what it really is – performative conservatism wrapped in the illusion of “elegance.” This isn’t about taste. It’s about control. Yet. Again. It’s about who gets to decide when and how women are allowed to be visible, sensual, or bold. Cannes doesn’t want to eliminate nudity – they just want to be the ones who authorize it. If it’s written into a script, directed by a man and cropped for artistic purposes? Fantastic. But if a woman wears a sheer dress because she feels powerful in it? Suddenly it’s scandalous.

This late-stage dress code stunt isn’t just fashion policing, it’s a metaphor for the broader issue: women are allowed to be bold, sexy, or exposed only when it serves someone else’s narrative. But heaven forbid they do it on their own terms. That’s when the rules come crashing down.

Cannes, darling – you can keep your red carpet. We’ll take the revolution instead.

Aesthetic Agenda – The Hidden Time Travel in Women’s Fashion

Don’t be fooled by the muted tones and antique lace – some of the trendiest aesthetics dominating fashion right now are not as harmless as they look. There’s a quiet little uprising happening under the radar – and no, it’s not empowering. It’s a Pinterest board of patriarchy wrapped in Miu Miu ballet flats and cottagecore linen sets.

Let’s start with the most smug offender of them all – “Old Money”. This aesthetic isn’t just about dressing like it’s summer and you’re in the Hamptons – it’s about signalling class, tradition and restraint. Think beige trenches, tailored blazers, pearls and a refusal to acknowledge logos unless it’s Chanel No. 5. The “Old Money” girl doesn’t hustle – she inherits. She doesn’t express – she suppresses. And let’s be honest, her style icons? Mostly 1950s housewives and trust fund daughters who’ve never had to fight for anything but attention at a polo match.

“Quiet Luxury” is the more mature, no-fun cousin of “Old Money”. It whispers “stealth wealth” while screaming exclusion. This trend champions “timeless basics” (read – boring but expensive), where any trace of sexuality, edge, or self-expression is stripped away in favor of a $5,000 beige cashmere sweater that says, “I don’t need to show off, but I will judge you if you do.” It’s conservative fashion disguised as sophistication – a minimalist cult of modesty pretending to be chic.

Then there’s “Cottagecore”, the soft-spoken queen of the “return to tradition” movement. What started as a dreamy escape into florals, picnic baskets, and baking sourdough turned into a love letter to domestic femininity. The uniform? Puff sleeves, corset tops, prairie skirts and the aesthetic vibe of a woman who’s about to milk a cow and ask her husband permission to buy more jam. Don’t get me wrong – femininity is beautiful. But this obsession with soft, submissive, stay-at-home visuals has turned into a Pinterest-perfect fantasy where women are valuable because they’re delicate, not because they’re powerful.

And last but definitely not least, we have the sugar-coated grenade that is “Coquette”. Lace, bows, knee socks, tiny camisoles and vintage perfume bottles – it’s all very Lolita meets Lana Del Rey meets 1940s lingerie ad. On the surface, it’s just hyper-feminine fun. But dig a little deeper and the undertones are… uncomfy. Coquette glorifies girlhood in a way that veers dangerously close to infantilization. Women are styled to look like wide-eyed, lip-glossed porcelain dolls – sexy, but not too sexy; desirable, but still innocent. This is not female empowerment. This is aestheticized submission.

What all of these aesthetics have in common is that they’ve taken women’s fashion and stripped it of rebellion. No loud colours. No visible skin. No messy hair or chaotic prints or punk energy. Just soft, silent and agreeable. It’s the fashion version of being told to smile more.

And here’s the kicker – these trends are often marketed as empowerment. “You don’t need to show your body to be beautiful!” they say, conveniently ignoring that women shouldn’t have to hide it either. You can wear whatever you want – that’s the whole point. But when the most celebrated looks in fashion are the ones that erase boldness, sexuality and self-expression, we’re not talking about style anymore. We’re talking about control.

So yes, wear your linen. Wear your bows. But don’t pretend these aesthetics are radical. They’re a return to “the good old days”, which, in case you forgot, were not good for women.

 

Domestic Disturbance

Welcome to the final boss of conservative fashion rebranding – the rise of the Tradwife Influencer. A woman who films herself baking from scratch in a puff-sleeved dress, while lovingly describing how she serves her husband a bone broth breakfast because he deserves it.

In theory, there’s nothing wrong with being a wife, a homemaker or having traditional values. But the problem with this trend isn’t the lifestyle – it’s the performance of that lifestyle as a morally superior aesthetic. These women aren’t just living this way. They’re branding it. Monetizing it. Evangelizing it as the ideal.

Let’s talk about two of the crown jewels of the TikTok tradwife empire – Nara Smith and Estee Williams.

Nara Smith, known for her impossibly slow-paced, whisper-toned videos of making everything “from scratch” for her model husband Lucky Blue Smith, has essentially turned her kitchen into a live-action Pinterest board. Glass jars, delicate linens, no crumbs anywhere – just her, a hand mixer and the message that being the perfect wife is the ultimate feminine accomplishment. She’s stunning. She’s soft. She’s soothing. But behind the aesthetic lies a quietly dangerous message – your worth is measured in how well you serve your man. Bonus points if you do it all in a cotton sundress and never, ever complain.

Then there’s Estee Williams – part 1950s pin-up, part “Leave It to Beaver”, part Stepford wife in red lipstick. She’s TikTok’s time capsule of conservative glam, often going viral for things like dressing up in retro housewife outfits just to clean the bathroom or bake for her husband. Her content is less about homemaking and more about roleplaying submission. Estee’s version of empowerment is rooted in obedience, modesty and being “classy” – code for “seen and not heard.”

These women aren’t just promoting a fashion aesthetic. They’re promoting a lifestyle that subtly (or not so subtly) suggests modern women have gone too far. That we’ve become too loud, too sexual, too independent. And that true happiness lies in returning to the “natural” order – aka the 1950s.

Here’s the real tea – the tradwife trend thrives on aesthetic bait. It wraps oppression in a gingham ribbon and sells it as aspiration. It doesn’t just romanticize domesticity – it repackages submission as luxury. The dresses are cute, sure. The makeup is flawless. But the core message? That women are most beautiful, most worthy and most valuable when they’re soft, silent and serving.

And let’s be clear – being a homemaker or loving tradition isn’t anti-feminist. But telling other women that the only way to be feminine is to shrink, soften and surrender? That’s where we draw the line. Tradwife content isn’t about choice. It’s about shame.

We didn’t fight for decades just to get dragged back to a fantasy where we’re barefoot in the kitchen, smiling through gender roles like they’re Chanel lip gloss. If being a “modern woman” means rejecting that nonsense, then sign us up twice.

Here’s The Deal

Fashion should be a mirror of self-expression, not a measuring stick for morality. If you feel your best in a bikini, wear it. If a bodycon dress makes you strut like you own the sidewalk, rock it. And if prairie dresses or cashmere basics are your thing, go for it – just don’t shame others for choosing differently. Because the moment fashion becomes about rules, it stops being art and starts being oppression. So to all the modesty police, pearl-clutching TikTokers and red carpet rule-makers – take your time machine and kindly return to sender. We’re not going backwards.

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