In today’s algorithm-driven world, is beauty still in the eye of the beholder?
A generational addiction to documenting ourselves and sharing it. Scrolling through our feeds and imagining how we would perceive ourselves ‘if we were someone else.’ This is enmeshed with simultaneously embodying our biggest subconscious fear, that of truly being seen. Unfiltered authenticity is a communal Gen Z phobia, the internet is the perfect place to microdose — a place to be perceived that is entirely staged.

We see others and ourselves as products for consumption, resulting in a lack of online spaces that represent our interests and identities, without a filter. MySpace was more personal and authentic — a place to build a profile around your identity through music, friends, your own coded design — whereas Tumblr relied on external references and curated images that signaled taste. With both, inspiration was found through late nights spent searching, rather than buying what an algorithm tells us to.

Realistically, the idea that our ‘niche’ inspirations were unique was entirely delusional. Countless teenagers wanted to dress like Effy Stonem and leave the party at sunrise with mascara lining their cheeks and holes in the soles of their knee-high Converse — but the magic was that we all felt like the only one.

Maybe we have made our way back to square one. Before the internet required a legible, digital representation of ourselves, the place to be seen was the pavement. Has the commodification of the self via social media meant that in the 2020s, the most authentic style and beauty can be found on the street and in the smoking area? Club-babies on a night out, who look under twenty and are wearing full geish on a Thursday. Platform boots, five belts and a LOT of makeup. They’ve just realised that if they wear something crazy to a party, people will take pictures of them. This is a very exciting discovery.

The older woman that you always see in your neighbourhood. She has hot-pink hair and wears all pink outfits, lots of vintage Betsey Johnson — unbelievably iconic. When she got pink platform Crocs you called your housemate to tell them the news. When you finally decide to put on a red lip — you used to wear one all the time. All your friends said how they miss when you would come to a weekday hangout with a casual red lip. You miss that version of yourself too.

These undocumented moments are where authentic beauty lives. How we exist in our style and selves when we are not tethered to being our own beholders (even though it can be really fun).

Self-fashioning is ritual and routine. It requires a daily practice of trying to understand ourselves and our inspirations. Whether we are trying to show how we feel or hide it — style is autobiographical.

Eye makeup taken from K-beauty paired with vintage New Rocks and an old band T-shirt you used to love as a teenager, now torn up and worn as a baby tee.

So, what happens if an excerpt of this autobiography is recreated on someone else, if personal style is transformed into spectacle?