Buzzed, bleached hair. Scuffed Doc Martens. A Fjällräven Kånken backpack lined with punk pins: Green Day, Bad Brains, Black Flag. And a MAGA hat.
If you saw this guy anywhere but a Charlie Kirk and Bryce Hall campus pop-up, donning his conservative political attire, you would — rightfully — assume he's anything but. Maybe he sits in front of you in class or you see him at the library. He's probably holding a skateboard.
The baggy jeans, the hair, the overall aesthetic is without a doubt "alternative," right? And these characteristics scream liberal, Democrat, leftist — whatever you want to call it.
But that's not the case anymore. Fashion, and specifically alternative fashion, has been a tool and symbol of politics, social justice or insubordination in some way or another over the last century, but the difference between its modern wearers is becoming harder to discern each day.
You can't judge a hippie, granola, skater or any other aesthetic at face value now. And that might not be a bad thing. Do conservatives and liberals even dress differently anymore? And does a culture or aesthetic's origin or meaning still matter in the age of the internet?
A history of countercultures
Counterculture has been around since there's been culture. Where the early 1900s had aristocrats and bohemians, the 1950s had conformists and beatniks. Since the 60s, hippies, punks and skaters have made it their goal to rage against the machine or avoid it completely.
Whether that meant engaging in hedonistic activities, protesting or making radical music, one thing has remained consistent between each subculture — their clothes. While every underground movement will tell you they care more about the cause than the clothes, you would never catch a hippie wearing a pantsuit, just as a 90s grunge kid would never go without baggy jeans.
The purpose of this wasn't just to look cool. Scrappy clothes and combat boots were cheaper alternatives to what was being sold at the average Macy's, and thrift stores were rampant with leather jackets and safety pins to hold rips together.
Most countercultures were anti-consumerism, meaning they didn't want to spend more than they had to, and they didn’t want to look like they worked an office job that would support a consumerist lifestyle.
But their real goal was sharing the core values of the subculture, which typically meant avoiding spending money on unnecessary things.
"I don't think that you're inherently not a punk if you choose to spend $200 on a leather jacket, or if you spend however much money a month on hairspray as a goth," said Sage Kingsley, a video producer with a background in fashion and alternative subcultures. "That doesn't make you any less of a member of the subculture, so long as you're fully engaged in what it represents."
But now, new participants in these subcultures are straying away from what being 'alternative' truly meant as the styles become the norm.
The ultimate purpose of being a part of the counterculture was exactly what it sounds like. Being alternative meant rejecting the life your conservative parents made for you, loving whoever you want and fighting for progress.
So, when you eye the guy in Hayden Library wearing eyeliner and a septum piercing, why is his outfit topped off with a Confederate flag patch? Do subcultures no longer represent what they used to?
According to John Ortved, a New York Times and Vogue fashion contributor, it's not far-fetched to assume, or even a new phenomenon, that conservative, straight, white men assimilate themselves into those they oppress.
"In the later stages of the French Revolution … there was a movement where amongst rich people, they started dressing poor — they started dressing as the laborers, as the sans-culottes," he said. "They started dressing like poor people because it was the cool thing to do."
Ortved said this occurrence has happened time and time again throughout history, citing Jimmy Carter as the first president in office to wear jeans, a symbol of rebellion and the American working class.
Obviously, no one owns the sole right to wear denim, but progress can be halted when the system becomes indistinguishable from what, or who, is trying to oppose it. Everyone looks the same.
"Do I think buying your entire alternative wardrobe from Shein does make you a little less punk? Yeah." Kingsley said. "Because that's just not mindful consumerism."
Is it authentic?
Now, conservative teens look alternative too — whether it's cropped 'granola' shirts and flare jeans, or an arm tattoo, camo, mustache combo. And while they aren't the majority, the presence has grown significantly in the last few years.
Cairo Bailey is one such conservative teen, decked out in an oversized shirt and baggy jorts, paired with a MAGA bucket hat to attend Former President Donald Trump's rally at Mullett Arena on Oct. 24. She said her style is inspired by her brother, Dublin Trail, who is teaching her how to skate.
She said there isn't really a difference in how conservatives and liberals dress. "Whatever you're into — it can be similar on both sides."
This is fair, especially when it comes to skate culture in particular. What's wrong with conservatives wanting to learn how to ollie too?
Though it has improved, historically skate culture has been male-dominated and unforgiving to anyone who identifies as queer. But at its core, skating has anti-establishment and nonconformist roots that are essential to understanding its history. Although it can be simply seen as a hobby, many skaters believe being conservative is the antithesis of the open-minded, anti-police culture that skating has cultivated.
Now, the clothes themselves have become the selling point rather than the overall subculture. Most new people trying on skate-inspired outfits of baggy denim and oversized graphic tees don't care about skating. They just think the clothes look cool — and most of the time, they get them from thrifting.
"It's to the point where I'm hearing people describe (thrifting) more as a hobby than even fashion itself," said Eli Babb, a sophomore studying tourism development management.
Like most parts of alternative culture, thrifting used to be relatively exclusive to certain subcultures. But this isn't the case anymore.
"Rarely do people know the actual names for fabrics and styles of clothing or things like that," Kingsley said. "They just look up aesthetics because it's less about the article of clothing trying to express something, and more about just trying to copy a certain look, to fit into a certain aesthetic."
And as these internet-driven aesthetics become more popular, it gets harder to tell who is really a part of a group and who just thinks the clothes look cool.
But it's certainly not all bad. Thrifting has inherent ties to sustainability, and as it becomes more popular, it can reach those who likely wouldn't practice sustainability otherwise. Though some subcultures may lose their roots, the Earth's might grow.
Cassidy Max, a junior studying fashion, said Gen Z's push to thrift, upcycle or support eco-conscious brands usually aligns with more left-leaning people and is "not just their style choice, but a statement."
Though the sustainable nature of the hobby originated in liberal circles, it's now attracting all kinds of new people, and left-leaning students don't see any issue with that, especially when it ultimately helps their cause.
"When it comes to thrifting, there's more than enough for everybody," said Pierce DeVoe, a fashion influencer with over 130,000 followers on TikTok. "So I actually think it's beneficial that people are getting into it: Even if you're reselling it, at least you’re trying to sell something secondhand, move it to communities, and then maybe put a little bit more change in your pocket. You can be a little more self-sufficient."
Sometimes, clothes are just clothes.
"I think whenever anybody tries to branch into something that makes them feel more themselves, that's their thing," DeVoe said. "I don't really think it matters where it comes from. If you just like what you’ve got on, then I think it's fine there."
Another culture with alternative roots that has been subject to appropriation is hip-hop. Artists like Public Enemy and N.W.A, who rap about the Black experience in America, racism and police brutality, are often misunderstood by some of the white members of their audience. And if not misunderstood, completely ignored.
While this issue of appropriation without appreciation is extremely common in Black culture and subcultures, it also represents a broader loss of care and respect as new people flock to aesthetics and subcultures they've found online.
"It's a lot less authentic now, and there's a lot more that's being pushed in front of people's faces, rather than things that they're finding because they genuinely love it," DeVoe said. "It's more of a combination of the internet and then fast fashion capitalism."
Although clothing doesn't tell you everything about a person, and wearing a band's merchandise without knowing their work isn't the worst thing a person can do, it wasn’t that long ago that someone would get called a poser for not being able to list three songs from the artist on their shirt.
"My professor was saying that she could tell (who someone was) based on how they wore their clothing (or) if they had a band tee on and if they like that music," Max said. "I've worn band tees before where I didn't even know the band. I just got (it from) Urban Outfitters when I was younger."
Cost as a statement
As these neo-alternative aesthetics have become the norm, and every upper-middle-class teen you know is starting to dress like a TikToker in Utah, the fashion industry has promptly responded.
Fashion ebbs and flows as trends rise and fall, with new brands and aesthetics grasping out at the market through new avenues like Temu or TikTok Shop.
But even as these often genuine, well-meaning creators and small businesses sell their own perfect version of the boxed tee, cropped button-up or baggy denim, the price tag attached begins to shift the meaning of the aesthetic altogether.
Again, these looks and subcultures were founded on a combination of need, provocative style and low costs. They were meant to be cheap and thriftable, and the oversized look usually represented not having money to tailor clothes as well as not wanting to appear too high class.
So do $200 JNCO jeans or $600 pre-distressed Golden Goose sneakers, despite their quality and value, count as purchases that align with a certain subculture?
Ortved said he believes anything bought with the intention of revamping an entire wardrobe for aesthetic purposes only brings into question the validity of the person's place in the subculture.
"Everything in terms of culture gets commodified so quickly that I have not in my lifetime seen any kind of activity with a group of people that I would identify as a subculture," Ortved said. "I think it's all geared toward money so quickly that the authenticity is immediately questionable."
Where to go from here
At this point, in the age of Depop, the internet and fast fashion, it seems that all remnants of a working subculture have vanished. And if they do exist, they can no longer be divided by political orientation and style.
It doesn't matter that Charli XCX tweeted "kamala IS brat" — someone who voted for Trump can still be seen walking around campus in "Sweat Tour" merch.
Ortved said because liberals and conservatives are no longer distinguishable from each other instead of guessing what the other side looks like, it's time to start being observant.
"Maybe by the time we get to the next presidential election, liberals will have smartened up to the point where they will actually notice what conservatives are wearing and not just assume," Ortved said. "Maybe this is a good wake-up call to look at what these people are actually wearing, as opposed to just assuming that someone who is wearing a button-up and khakis is a Republican or someone in the Charli XCX shirt can't be."
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton.
This story is part of The Generation Issue, which was released on December 4, 2024. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporters at adirst@asu.edu and njarret1@asu.edu and follow @andrewdirst and @nataliajarrett on X.
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Natalia is a sophomore studying journalism and mass communication. This is her third semester with The State Press. She has also worked as a politics reporter.
Andrew is a junior studying journalism and mass communication. This is his third semester with The State Press. He has also worked at The Arizona Republic.
