Meet the Anti-RecessionCore Designers

Words: Dionna Santucci

Make it stand out

When the stock market crashed in 2008, so did the blinged-out, sequinned, ruffly style of the previous ten years. What once was gold, leopard-printed, and hot pink became sterling silver, floral, and navy blue. Now, as fear of another recession creeps across the country, some designers are taking to the frontlines to ward off its effects on trends – armed with a screen printer and a dream. 

Upon its announcement in December of 2023, Pantone’s 2024 Colour of the Year, “Peach Fuzz,” spawned a sizable week’s worth of headlines due to its… plainness. Meant to inspire serenity or world peace, the colour became emblematic of toxic positivity at a systematic level. Exhausted and burnt out from the turmoil of years past? Shut off your mind and spend the new year painting your house the colour of your brain.

Their 2025 follow-up, “Mocha Mouse,” is similarly numbing. A hue that evokes memories of chocolate milk moustaches or cozy lattes, the muted brown communicates the same message in a different tone: remain calm; relax; be subdued by nostalgia. The colour seems like one mass coping mechanism. It’s cozy, safe, recession-coded: it’s a colour you wear when you’re unsure of what’s next. It slots nicely in line with the currently trending “Clean Girl” aesthetic and its minimalist, demure, and suspiciously traditional themes. As London-based psychologist Dion Terrelonge puts it, “It’s our inner child showing up and saying, ‘Hey, I’m overwhelmed.’” 

But just as the simple, clean lines and muted colors of 2008-2009 faced pushback in counter-culture aesthetics like Tumblr’s soft grunge, so does Gen Z’s fascination with the bland. At a time when business casual is trending in high schools, new players in the DIY scene are dragging fashion out of its beige coma by leaning into the weird, the whimsical, and the refreshingly niche.

Bella Lewis, founder of one-woman clothing brand Moth Allium, got her start through cosplay and costume design. “I often see clothing through the lens of art first and practicality second,” she says. Her pieces are inspired by fairies, anime, and what she describes as “morute” – a blend of morbid and cute aesthetics.

At a time when business casual is trending in high schools, new players in the DIY scene are dragging fashion out of its beige coma by leaning into the weird, the whimsical, and the refreshingly niche.

The Instagram account for Lewis’s brand acts as a portal into a world only inhabited by the cast of Bambi, with the occasional visit from a vampire or dagger-clad maiden: second-hand baby tees screen-printed with kittens, bunnies, and fawns; blouses made to look as though the wearer is bleeding through the fabric; blood bag-printed denim mini-skirts, and slip dresses brandishing axes and swords.

“The dresses kind of tell me what they need,” Lewis said. “I try to keep in mind the original piece’s colour palette and silhouette to figure out if it will become a more feminine or edgy piece.”  

Her shoppers, she explains, are Pinterest obsessives, maximalists, and vintage lovers. “I imagine the draw for a lot of people is that it’s unique. Although I’ve had fast-fashion companies try to make replicas – it’s simply not possible. Almost everything is handmade, one-of-one vintage.”

Ranging anywhere between $40 and $100, depending on the garment and labour involved, Lewis’s pieces strike a chord in her buyers hard enough to keep them loyal despite the emergence of cheaper competition.

Terrelonge, whose work examines the intersection of identity, culture, and clothing, argues that much of the consumer drive for pieces like Lewis’s lies in escapism. As people perceive reality and the dominant culture as more and more suffocating, the desire for an opposition based in freedom and expression grows. 

“We’re leaning into fantasy. We’re leaning into characters. We’re leaning into childlike versions of ourselves,” Terrelonge said. “There’s a slight element of irony to it.”

Designer and brand owner Marie Jankowski sees the growing trend of esoteric, widely specific pieces in fashion as a reflection of broader cultural movements. She believes that these garments are not just about personal expression but a way to tap into something larger and more significant.

“It’s about asserting your weirdness, but in a way that’s aesthetic and stylised. It’s curated weird,” Jankowski said. 

After moving from New York to LA and working what she deemed an “uninspiring” string of production jobs – including a stint as a celebrity personal assistant – Jankowski launched her brand, Janky Inc., at the urging of friends who loved the custom, handmade printed shirts she’d gift them for holidays and birthdays. Specialising in “custom textiles and wearable nostalgia,” with some items starting at $18 and others selling for $350, Janky Inc. offers pieces to those curating a hyper-specific wardrobe inspired by traditional tattoo culture, indie musicians, and femininity with edge. As Jankowski puts it, her pieces “appeal to people who like being a little cryptic.” 

“It’s about asserting your weirdness, but in a way that’s aesthetic and stylised. It’s curated weird,”

“My ‘Newborn Tee’ blew up overnight, and I don’t even think most people who bought it know or recognize the song I took inspiration from: ‘Different This Time’ by Cornelia Murr,” she said. “I wanted to reference this idea that good and bad don’t really exist, we’re all just learning.”

With the obscure nature of this style, it might feel instinctive to question or doubt its success and popularity but, due to its relatability, perception of authenticity, or the culture’s craving for something fresh, shoppers haven’t hesitated to dig in and take a bite out of the absurd. Public figure, from model Bella Hadid to singer-songwriter and Midwest princess Chappell Roan have worn Lewis’s brand. Just last year, she styled the indie-rock duo Daisy Grenade for their debut at the When We Were Young Festival. The band’s message is all about using “femininity as a weapon,” as the About page on their website reads, prompting Lewis to describe them as a “perfect match” for Moth Allium. 

“It’s a huge thing for a small brand like mine to be worn by these people,” Lewis said. “I rarely have a full day off but I’m okay with that because I love making clothes, and I get to see them be worn by people who really connect with them.” 

When a style adopted by “afflicted women,” as Daisy Grenade describe themselves, begins to take off in a mainstream way, it signals a shift. Jankowski’s designs have started popping up all over TikTok and Instagram, boosted by trend-setters like singer-songwriter and social media personality Emmy Hartman – a clear sign that something once on the fringes is stepping into the spotlight.

“What we wear is inextricably linked to who we are. It reflects our everyday choices, our background, our culture. It’s one of the first things people see before you even speak,” Terrelonge said. “The popularity of this style shows that people are feeling the need to be heard, to be understood.”

This resonates with how Jankowski feels about her own pieces: it’s an “if you know, you know” kind of thing. 

“With what I make, I’m trying to speak to a memory that someone might have from their own life. We’re all living parallel existences. And there’s this growing divide between our current political state and self-expression – even being queer feels like counterculture to what our government is presenting to us,” Jankowski said. “But if someone knows my stuff and they see someone else wearing it, my brand identity communicates a message of acceptance and camaraderie.” 

It’s not about being flashy or even being seen, but about recognition. In a moment where the world feels chaotic, pieces like Lewis’s and Jankowski’s offer something more grounding than Peach Fuzz or Mocha Mouse ever could: a design that doesn’t just say look at me but also, I see you, too.

“People are making a statement about themselves. Whenever I see someone buying one of my shirts to wear out in Missouri, I’m like ‘Yeah, that’s kind of funny’ but to them it feels like something really unique and personal,” Jankowski said. 

For Lewis and Jankowski, they aren’t just making clothes, they’re making armor, badges, tiny banners that say: I’m still here, I’m still weird, and I’m still dressing like myself.