Why influencer outfit reels are making me fall out of love with fashion.

And why it’s starting to feel like fashion abuse

It’s been a while. I didn’t mean to disappear. I accidentally started teaching brand management, design thinking, and business, which have been surprisingly meaningful and genuinely fulfilling. Add to that two chaotic but happy little boys who always seem to need feeding, and the days fill themselves.

But rest assured, I’ve still been watching. I’m always watching. I’ve constantly got my eye on fashion, how it moves, mutates, and mirrors the world around it. My relationship with it these days feels a bit like having an older, cooler sister, effortless, stylish, and magnetic. But lately she’s been partying too hard, maybe doing things she shouldn’t, and I’m left wondering if I should still be looking up to her.

I’ve realized this: I’m not just bored with fashion, I’m being quietly repelled and slightly abused by it. Or rather, by what it’s become in the hands of the algorithm.

The main offender?

Those annoying but addictive polished reels of people getting dressed with that same serif font.

Okay, I can feel you closing and rolling your eyes, hear me out.

Grab that coffee.

You know exactly which influencers I’m talking about. I won’t name names; I’m not a Mean Girl (pun intended). But they’re all over your feed performing. They start in their underwear or a matching bra set, pretending it’s all just a bit of fun. Maybe there’s a weird little dance, or a pantomime of indecision, like they just can’t believe how quirky they are. Like, I’m just like you, I’m so easy going, funky, and fun. Then comes the speed dressing, the sock becomes boot, that annoying asamr gasp, the blazer goes on, accessories, and the air kisses. Goodness.

I’ll admit, there was a time when I loved seeing it all on Instagram, especially in those early years, around 2014 to 2017. Before “content” was a job title, before affiliate links were hiding in every caption, it was cool to see people documenting their style in real time. It felt personal, almost communal, fashion’s version of a mixtape: a peek into someone’s closet and, by extension, their brain. The lighting was bad, the poses awkward, the outfits experimental in ways that felt honest. There was a kind of creative democracy to it all, less polish, more play.

But somewhere along the way, it got streamlined, professionalised, and optimised. And now, no matter who’s posting, it all kind of looks the same. These videos aren’t style inspiration anymore.

They’re choreography,

performance,

a tired formula,

a never-ending carousel of outfit montages with the emotional depth of a screensaver. And yet we watch, hypnotised. I watch. Of course I do. Because the algorithm rewards repetition and fashion, God help us, has obliged.

So no, this isn’t a personal fashion death for me. Just a refusal to pretend that every outfit change on the internet is harmless or charming. Some of us are quietly switching off. Not because we hate fashion, but because we love it too much to watch it get reduced to this. I’m not trying to call anyone out in particular, truly. I get why people make them.

If fashion is a language, maybe it’s time we stop rehearsing the same tired scene.

Fashion Abuse?

The term fashion abuse might sound dramatic, but I don’t think it is anymore. There’s growing research connecting these hyper-curated visual platforms to decreased self-esteem, compulsive self-surveillance, and body image issues, especially among women and teens. A recent American Psychological Association report points to social media as a significant driver of body dissatisfaction, perfectionism, and anxiety. When fashion becomes a daily performance for an invisible audience, it stops dressing the self and starts eroding it. As cultural critic Kyle Chayka writes in Filterworld,

algorithmic feeds tend to “flatten culture,” reducing creativity and complexity to easily digestible sameness.

What once invited fashion play and creativity now feels like low-grade psychological warfare, fought in closets, comment sections, and bathroom mirrors. This isn’t about blaming anyone; it’s just our unhealthy reality. And if the thing you used to love makes you feel worse instead of better, isn’t that worth calling what it is?

I swear I’ll have something more positive to say in my next post. I just needed to get this out of my head. What do you think? I would love to hear your thoughts on this.