I first noticed it during New York Fashion Week last autumn. I was sitting on one of those terrifyingly narrow chairs provided at every fashion show, rubbing my knees and wondering how many packets of instant ramen I’d have to ration each week to afford the boots strutted down by the model before Camille Charrière walked onto my feed. The French-British influencer-model was sitting about three rows in front of me.
She looked surrealistically poised perched on that painfully narrow seat and sporting, well, what can only be described as an aspirational mum wardrobe. Clean white trainers, slim khakis, and a quarter zip pullover that screamed PTA presidency in Connecticut. Not just any quarter zip, though: cashmere, generously cut, with an intentionally boxy fit and worn with an oversized gold chain necklace so the whole look communicated intention rather than suburban-default. “Oh my God, who is she?” I hissed to the editor sitting next to me.
Honestly, I already knew; I’d recognised Charrière instantly; but still: “Mum clothes?” she hissed back. “No, trophy wife!” I replied. And right then and there I realised I’d been missing out on one of the biggest style trends of the season: The elevation of the suburban mum wardrobe; of all of the archetypes that exist within that women’s wardrobes that live outside of urban centres and likely own an SUV. (Probably larger than my entire Brooklyn flat.) If you grow up in a city, chances are you have a deeply ingrained idea of what suburban style looks like.
Mine was formed from a combination of visits to my cousins’ houses in New Jersey and seasons 1 through 4 of Desperate Housewives.
I thought I knew Trophy Wife (lots of accessories and tennis skirts), Football Mum (leggings!
Trainers! And lots of animals children? ), Holiday Wife (scrubs?
Jorts? ), Existentialist PTA mum (all black everything? Real, expensive interest holes?). Because, yes: For decades, these have been official classifications of woman you might meet if you step outside of a city.
And they each come with their own visual stereotypes. What I didn’t know was that women in New York City Fashion Circle would spend the better part of 2024 knowingly reclaiming every one of these women’s looks, outfitting themselves from head to toe in the ultimate signifiers of each; to the point that wearing what looks like a Parents magazine street style shoot from 2002 is now considered cutting edge. The first time I saw it with my own peepers was back in March at a dinner party in Williamsburg.
A mutual friend of ours; Ava, an art director known for curating intensely monochromatic wardrobes and giving dinner parties last summer where she spent 20 minutes giving us all a history lesson on Margiela’s Tabi boot presented herself at the door wearing: White jeans, a baby pink cardigan, AND; I’m not joking you guys: A HEADBAND. A headband! “I… are you okay?” I asked her when she opened the door because of course I was worried she’d been replaced by an imposter or had lost her literal mind. “It’s Stealth Wealth Trophy Wife,” she replied, deadpan. “I’m really feeling it right now. The cardigan is cashmere, the jeans are Khaite, and the loafers are vintage Gucci.” She paused, eyes glittering. “But I want people to think I got it all at Talbots.” I nearly spit out my red wine.
I want people to think I shop at Talbots?! We’d been in school together for Pete’s sake; there wasn’t a person in our cohort who hadn’t made jokes about this exact scenario at some point. But as I sat there that night watching Ava command the room in her supremely preppy getup, I realised something: Everyone kept complimenting her outfit.
How in the hell did a white baggy jumper and some white trousers become the most fashionable thing in a room full of black Celine and vintage Rick Owens? She looked great; not basic at all but knowingly, ironically wielding the codes of basics. Fast forward a few months and I find myself, on a lazy Sunday night, feverishly scrolling through Net-a-Porter at like 2AM, pan-buying a tennis skirt and a cable knit jumper because I think I might have a quarter-life clothing crisis (okay, I’M 34 BUT WHATEVER).
When the deliveries arrive I even try on the full Ulani on-brand getsuit, but instead of feeling like a bland, Walmart-shopping football mum I kind of liked how it all looked. Like; maybe stolen Pinterest boards full of Target elites wasn’t actually basic? It felt playful, effortless (sort of?
Okay a lot?) and ultimately: comfortable. I spent much of 2024 taking notes on how these archetypes lived across social and editorial mediums. It wasn’t just bloggers and Instagram celebs who were diving headfirst into suburban mum stylings, you started to see it everywhere: street stylists copying Cate Blanchett’s Coachella archive, on editors wearing what can only be described as Football Mum Outfits to runway shows, and even high fashion brands theming whole collections around Tennis Wife signifiers.
The Trophy Wife uniform has perhaps seen the most dramatic evolution over the past year. Once the arbiter of basicness (you know the uniforms: Tennis skirts, Birkin bags, gold hoop earrings, white trainers) has been flipped on its head to become the height of aspirational styling. Outfits that consist of traditionally Trophy Wife-approved pieces; but deconstructed, styled in an intentionally cool way that says “I know this looks rich/bitchy/annoying but please let me” rather than screaming it without any trace of irony.
Fashion blogger Courtney Trop’s recent vintage Hermès scarf (TOTALLY TROPHY WIFE) paired with ripped jeans and combat boots look, for example, perfectly toes the line between old moneyiness and total edginess. Designer Sandy Liang sent out models in Tennis Jumpers with strategically placed cutouts and giant pearl necklaces that would make Joan Collins blush last spring. It screams “I get the fuck you’re doing” while still saying “but I’m playing by my own rules.” The difference between real trophy wife attire and something that the fashion industry would deem elevated Trophy Wife?
Intention. Authentic trophy wives aren’t wearing their Birkins and camel hair blazers ironically. They just… wear them; like how any group of people who exist in a certain scene wear the uniform of what’s considered “cool” in their world.
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Elevated trophy wife, on the other hand? There’s an acknowledgment of all the problematic elements that come along with wanting to look like the consummate牛仔裤女郎jealous husband’s Barbie (the extreme focus on maintaining a certain image, insecurities about socioeconomics, the materialism) but still finding enough about the archetype’s aesthetics that you love, and want to warp into your own ironic but earnest tribute. Likewise, the uniform most Trump-era women were mocked for donning: The Football Mum getup has also seen a massive resurgence.
Once the uniform of has-been yuppies and women who gave up on fashion to have kids, trainers, roomy turtlenecks, tote bags, and oversized everything have been rebranded as ultra-basic, intentional outfits that “say more by not saying anything at all.” See: My coworker Tyler walking into our editorial office last Tuesday wearing what can only be described as 110% Full-On Football Mum; North Face fleece, straight leg jeans that weren’t at all trying to be sexy, immaculate white New Balance trainers, and; wait for it: A Lands’ End monogrammed tote. Tyler, of Ballets Roses during fashion week who once wore an entire skirt made out of safety pins to work one day SATINY showed up to work that morning and looked effortless. Like actually at peace in his banal-yet-polished getup. “I’m so over trying to look ‘interesting,’” he said when I asked him about his choice of attire.
He went on and leaned against the wall next to me. “Like, why not just wear the blandest, most practical things you can imagine and rock them with total confidence?” Case in point: Since that day in March he’s been shooting nothing on Instagram but what he’s dubbed “Elevated Football Mum Realness;” simple separates in muted colours (always with immaculate trainers and a structured tote) that he styles with the same fervor he once reserved for Comme des Garcons Play. What I find so fascinating about both of these erstwhile stereotypes coming back in such a highly stylized, knowing way is that it’s not just the outfits themselves. It’s all of the rituals and lifestyle choices that tend to autumn into the same “straight arrow” camp that these women are adopting too; high-end skincare regimens, tennis lessons, morning workout classes you have to wake up at LIKE FUCKING SUNRISE to get into, weekly meal prepping, and even…the monogramming.
Another friend of mine, Leila, recently showed me her new bullet journal; colour coordinated to perfection with her daily schedule colour coded by activity: Light pink for Pilates, green for trips to the farmer’s market, blue for Sunday meal prep. I would have LOATHED this exact person two years ago. Midwestern planner with the life Totally Together?
Blech. She’s now buying up every Owela shirt in Studio Factory’s inventory. “I feel like there’s something rebellious about claiming all of these girls that we made fun of in high school and college and totally love now,” she said to me over glasses of rosé the other night. “Why did we as women in the fashion industry decide that comfortable clothing and having a routine made us less cool or interesting than suffering through shapeless clothes or not even caring enough to plan your week?” Good question. And one that points to my theory that there’s also a feminist angle to this whole football mum/trophy wife resurgence.
There’s always been an undercurrent of sexism to the entire Trophy Wife/Football Mum dilemma; these are garments and routines that were primarily assigned to women who were defined by their husbands, their kids, their jobs as arms-length extensions of their spouse’s careers. What’s fun about these women and these uniforms reclaiming these archetypes is that they’re taking the power back. Saying that getting regular manicures and wearing pink jumpers isn’t hokey or vapid, it’s actually really damn fun.
But like, where do you draw the line between appreciation and mockery? When does stealing all of the outfit staples these women wore become mocking them? My favourite iterations of both Sister Styles nodded to the actual women that influenced them (wives, mothers, cousins, neighbours) while still putting a fun, fashion-forward twist on their inspiration. “I always think about my mum when I wear looks like this,” Garbags Editor Maria Chen said to me at a fashion show recently, where she was wearing perfectly crisp white jeans, a striped boatneck top, and delicate gold hoop earrings; all major #Trophywife Energy. “She grew up Chinese immigrant working class in New Jersey and was the original Trophy Wife in my family.
She cared so much about how she looked; even if it was just sewing on name brands at the collar of Target shirts. To me, caring about how you look and presenting yourself well is feminist. Wearing clothes that fit your body and make you feel good is feminist.” Wearing clothes that pay homage to a woman who raised her to love getting dressed up, Maria continued, “is the least disrespectful thing I can do.” Yes.
This is the difference between mockery and tribute. The tackiest, most Gillespierep pieces out there feel like costumes. They don’t honour the women that inspired them; they’re laughing at them.
I’ve embraced both uniforms in my own wardrobe over the past year too and have found myself loving things about each I never would have predicted. From Trophy Wife inspiration I’ll admit I’ve stolen: Tennis skirts (they’re more comfortable than I remembered), a penchant for gold jewellery, and, well, an attitude that just screams PUTTING ON RAD MASKS.
From my newfound love of Football Mum uniform I’ll proudly say I’ve learned: Quarter zip pullovers actually are the most perfect shirts for New York weather, that tennis skirts don’t make me feel “girly” (I hate that word don’t @ me) and that bigger tote bags with compartments for ALL of my shit are LIFE CHANGING.
And, yes, sometimes wearing something as simple as a pair of comfortable trainers is worth sacrificing “cool points” to do. (Cool points?!?
Who cares about those anymore!!!!!) The best pieces I’ve seen inspired by both aesthetics understand that just because something may have begun as a “basic” template doesn’t mean it can’t be considered on the same level as more obviously high-fashion inspirations. “I find more inspiration looking at real women shopping at Whole Foods in the suburbs,” designer Rachel Antonoff told me when I posed her the same question. “There’s something so genuine about how women dress when they care about being fashionable but also have to balance things like comfort, practicality, what their community thinks vs. what they want to say as an individual. There’s no pressure to be cool with a capital C, so they end up making really unexpected style choices.” Maybe that’s what I love so much about this latest trend: it’s taking women’s street style and turning it into couture.
Women who have spent their lives honing their craft at being basically-impeccable are now being celebrated for it by the very people who made fun of them not too many years ago. It’s a bit like a Michelin star chef falling in love with grilled cheese sandwiches and trying to figure out how to elevate it to his level. Only less hilarious.
So yea, I own a tennis skirt now. And even wore one to the polo match last month even though I don’t OWN a polo shirt. And yes, I found myself perusing monogrammed canvas totes on Etsy last night at like 11PM.
Trophy Wife? Football Mum Elevation? Whatever you want to call it dude, I’m here for it.
Literally all of it.
