Earlier last week, my 19-year-old cousin Zoe FaceTimed me looking like she was in a fashion crisis. Not that crises; she’s apparently dialed me for style emergencies on multiple occasions. But her particular sartorial dilemma stumped me.
“I’m going to need a black bonnet,” she declared before I could even say hello. “Like, a bonnet. Not a swim cap.
Not a beanie. A bonnet-bonnet.” I blinked at my screen, Midwestern latte dangling from my hand halfway to my mouth.
“Wait…
Are you like… joining a commune or something that I should know about?” “God, no, silly!” She burst out laughing.
“I’m just going for full Amish look. TikTok?
Plain People??? Everybody’s doing it.” I did not know. I pour an arguably unhealthy amount of mental energy into what’s trendy versus what’s passé, and yet I had completely missed that Gen Z had, suddenly and collectively, decided they were taking style cues from some of America’s oldest and most insular religious groups.
Communities whose entire raison d’être is rejecting technology and embracing radical simplicity. “Wait,” I said. “Are you doing this on FaceTime right now?” After what my editor helpfully referred to as “journalistic research (read: watching hours of TikTok videos and talking to random kids on the internet),” I am pleased to report: Yes, people are really into Amish-inspired fashion right now.
And it’s way deeper than; and frankly more interesting than; some random microtrend your cousin is into on the Internet. Let me explain. First things first: The trend is actually called #Amishcore on TikTok, where it’s racked up well over 28 million views. #PlainPeople and #CottageAmish are close behind.
Hop onto any of these feeds and you’ll see earnest young people trying to capture the “perfect plain look”; white caps or bonnets; long dresses or skirts in solid colours; high necklines; centre-parted hair; handmade aprons; sturdy oxford shoes; and absolutely nothing else. Especially no accessories. Think muted colours, natural fabrics, and low-key clothes that basically look like they belong in a museum of early Americana.
“I love this look because it’s like you’re rebelling but also being so peaceful at the same time,” says TikToker @SimplySamantha in a video that’s been viewed 1.2 million times. She’s wearing an oatmeal-coloured midi dress with a Peter Pan collar, puffy sleeves, and a white apron. She pairs it with black tights, lace-up boots, and her hair is tucked neatly into a white cap.
In her hands, she’s clutching a large wicker basket filled with leafy greens and rainbow carrots. It’s the internet-focused-yet-alt-twist on Little House on the Prairie cosplay we didn’t know we were waiting for, and it wouldn’t look too out of place on an art-school Comme des Garçons runway, either. Fair warning: My instinctive reaction when I first stumbled upon #Amishcore was equal parts eye-roll and side-eye.
Like, why do people constantly find new ways to appropriate religious aesthetics they don’t actually understand or respect? Was cottagecore’s preppy little sister finally emerging from the dusty depths of our collective archives? And, ugh, is this trend maybe… problematic?
The more TikTok creators I scrolled through and vintage-fabric-storeowners I spoke with, however, the more complicated the narrative became. Sure, there’s an element of that. But it’s also something more.
Something far more interesting than just ripping off an aesthetic you see on Reddit. “Fashions tend to swing back and forth between modesty and sensuality,” says Dr. Einav Rabinovitch-Fox, a fashion historian at Case Western Reserve University.
“If we spend too long hypersexualizing our wardrobes with low necklines, sheer fabrics, and tight fits, we generally shift hard in the other direction: big, bu1lding coversleaves; modest button-downs; clothes that scream ‘utility’ over ‘looks good on insta.’ The Amish are maybe the extreme version of that pendulum swing back toward conservatism.” It also makes total sense, timing-wise. Post-Y2K glamorous dresses, post-Barbiecore milkmaid figures, and post-lockdown life have all led us to a point of complete sensory saturation. Who wouldn’t want to dress like you got unplugged for a bit?
“I just got tired of throwing clothes in the washing machine and having them autumn apart after two wears,” says 22-year-old Mia Chen, who reached virality through her #AmishTinyHouse TikTok series and graciously agreed to speak to me via (lol) Instagram. “Fast fashion is THE WORST. I just wanted to wear clothes that felt classic and .” Chen; who lives in a decidedly-un-Amish flat in downtown Los Angeles; is pretty committed.
She wears solid-coloured linen dresses almost every day, shirts and blouses that cover her shoulders, and vintage-y aprons she finds online. She rarely wears anything with a waist (instead, opting for flowing tunics and skirts), and keeps her hair pinned neatly under a colourful kerchief or grandma-approved cap. She doesn’t own anything that needs to be plugged in or synced to her phone.
Or updated seasonally, for that matter. “It started out as an aesthetic thing,” Chen tells me. “But the more I wore these clothes, the more I loved how they made me feel.
You can’t just toss an apron in the dryer. You actually have to use your hands to cook or make things when you’re wearing one. It forces you to slow down.” That may be the secret sauce of #Amishcore in 2021: It’s less about the clothes themselves and more about what they represent.
A lifestyle rooted in principles of simplicity, fellowship, craftsmanship; and total disconnection from the digital world around them. “It makes sense that this would resonate when so many people my age feel completely overwhelmed,” Chen says. “By what?!
Classrooms? College applications? Losing your entire sense of innocence because of Social Media!
The Amish don’t have TikTok or Snapchat. They don’t stress about credit scores. They don’t stay up at night doomscrolling through Twitter.
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And their clothes reflect that.” If that all sounds like complete fantasy to you living in the Real World ™️, consider this: As young people, we’re also facing a crippling lack of economic stability, terrifying climate anxiety, and a resurgence of misinformation and hate speech spread via the same social platforms we’re expected to live our entire lives on. To then look across the ocean of modern life and see an entire culture that has willfully removed itself from the chaotic race to nowhere we call capitalism feels… Well, appealing, to say the least.
“I also think it’s attractive to wear your values,” says Sarah Meister, a trend forecaster at the cultural consultancy firm The Future Laboratory. “In protesting the hyper-sexualized, socially-mediated world most of us live in, you’re also rejecting fast fashion, you’re rejecting the need to constantly buy new phones and gadgets, you’re rejecting society’s pressure to be performing and present all of the time on the Internet.” There is, of course, a major irony in glamorizing a lifestyle of digital disconnect on TikTok. Most Amish bans don’t stop at phones; they prohibit electricity altogether.
The entire #AmishTok trend is deeply ironic. Which my guy, creators are totally aware of. And many of them say that awareness itself is the jumping-off point for why they’re drawn to Amish-inspired fashion in the first place.
“I’m not trying to be Amish, tbh,” Chen laughs. “Just inspired by their philosophy. Taking little parts of their culture that I relate to and want to incorp-.” “Uh, creators,” I interject.
“Potato, po-tah-to,” she says. “Daily life. And run that by some of the other TikTokers dressin “Plain clothing is part of a religious belief,” confirms Dr.
Steven Nolt, professor emeritus at Elizabethtown College and the author of several books on Amish culture. “These groups choose to dress plainly to set themselves apart from the ‘world’ and to live a life that constantly reminds them of their religious devotion.” That doesn’t mean appropriation’s not happening. It certainly is!
Many Amish- and Mennonite-inspired content creators are striving to learn more about the actual communities they’re taking inspiration from. We know this because they’ll often explain it to you at the beginning of their videos. “Did you know that not ALL Amish swear?
My community does not!” one popular creator explains. Others make it a point to link to Amish and Mennonite-run small businesses in their blogs and captions, whether that’s to buy authentic aprons, bonnets, or woven baskets rather than the Disney-fied versions being sold on Amazon. Will we ever see “Authentic Amish Inspired!” collections hit mass market runways?
Maybe not explicitly, but you certainly could if you tried. I haven’t spent weeks doing research just to tell you there’s zero Amish influence on modern fashion. But you’d be forgiven if you thought that was the case after scrolling through recent seasons.
From Gabriela Hearst’s obsession with deadstock fabrics and vintage sewing techniques to The Row consistently sending out looks that can only be described as “lazy Sunday morning chic,” high fashion has spent the past few years salivating all over the concept of Amish-core and biting their thumb about it. “There’s definitely been a history of religious dress inspiring luxury fashion,” Dr. Rabinovitch-Fox points out.
“Think of Balenciaga and his obsession with Catholic clergy wear. Other designers have referenced Hasidic Jewish prayer wear; hijabs have been major trend for years. White, understated clothing that doesn’t need to be Instagrammed and filters?
That’s exactly what the luxury market wants these days.” Maybe the biggest indicator that we’re actually in an Amish revival, though? Sustainability. Sure, these communities have been unintentionally practicing sustainable fashion long before it became a buzzword.
They dress in clothes that will last for decades, often passed down through multiple generations. Plain clothing is typically made by hand, using natural fibres when possible. Clothes are mended, not tossed.
Styles remain constant; there’s no such thing as “so last season” when you’ve been dressing the same way for over a hundred years. “When you start looking at the impact the fashion industry has on our planet, the Old Orderways of dressing start to seem revolutionary,” Meister adds. “In our current zeitgeist, rejecting trend cycles feels pretty radical.” But back to my adventures in #Amishcore.
After weeks of writing and thinking about this trend, I figured it only right to try it on for myself. So I dug an old navy cotton midi dress from the back of my closet, freed my grandmother’s vintage apron from its shelf in the basement, tied a plain scarf around my bun, and went about my day-rocking the #AmishCore life-in my usual Brooklyn stomping grounds. Here’s what I learned.
Damn. Do I miss pockets. Functional pockets in my goddamn apron that I can fit a PHONE in, not just this gloriously outdated scrolling device.
Because who needs pockets on their clothes when you’ve got an entire pocket on your apron?! The mind boggles. Side note: No one talked to me like I was a cute dog the entire day.
Not one barista called me “ma’am” (okay, I’m 32 but still.) Not one guy on the street thought to catcall me or give me shit for how I was dressed. I kinda liked the anonymity of it; not in a negative way, but in the sense that no one was up in my grill, you know?
Constantly assessing and sexualizing me like basic streetwear does these days.
By the time I hit happy hour, I was legitimately sad to take off my apron.
My phone, keys, wallet, and lip gloss fit inside those babies like they were made for each other. My dress was high-necked enough that I didn’t feel like I needed to constantly fuss with my shirt.
Scoot over, bra! I didn’t feel self-conscious about my body because nothing was going to ride up or slip down or plunge too low. I didn’t even cheque myself in shop windows, because…..what would I be checking for?
Nothing to correct or adjust or cover up! I happily changed back into my normal uniform of high-waisted jeans, cropped jumper, statement earrings; and instantly felt anxious about my outfits again. Like, do my bracelets match this top?
Is this dress still “in?” Should I tuck this in or leave it out? Who knows how long that shirt has been sitting in my closet; maybe I shouldn’t even wear it?!? There’s a mental load associated with getting dressed that I had been ignorin
