Several days ago, I overheard two women in their late 30s talking on a tram. They were laughing and commenting on how badly dressed today’s teenagers are. “Low-rise jeans? Seriously?” one of them said, while the other rolled her eyes at the sight of big hoop earrings and short tops. As I listened, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony. These women were most likely born in the 1990s. That means the very outfits they were criticizing were reflections of the styles that dominated their own teenage years.

The more I thought about it, the more it felt like today’s fashion is a kind of Renaissance—a revival of the late 1990s and early 2000s. Just like the Renaissance of the 15th century looked back to the ideals and aesthetics of Antiquity, today’s teens are diving into the fashion archives of the Y2K era. The streets and social media feeds are full of familiar images: low-rise jeans worn with total confidence, hoop earrings catching the light, and butterfly hairclips tucked into sleek or messy buns. All of it instantly transports me to childhood, to school hallways and early pop videos, to that first awareness of style.

And it’s not just about the jeans. Teens are embracing oversized denim, wide-legged cargo pants, tiny crop tops, and visible belly button piercings. These are not just clothes—they're statements. Interestingly, it was these visible midriffs and piercings that seemed to bother the women on the tram most. But I wondered: didn’t they or their friends dress the same way back when they were teenagers? Haven’t we all seen the old photos, frozen moments in time, with the same silhouettes and the same self-expression?

That judgment puzzled me. What makes people turn against the styles they once embraced? Why does fashion so often make people critical of those younger than them? Perhaps it’s not really about the clothes at all.

Fashion, after all, is tied closely to memory. And memory can be deceiving. When we see teenagers wearing what we wore years ago, we don’t always see the fun or freedom—we often see our own awkwardness, the insecurities, the rules we followed or broke. For some, it might stir a sense of discomfort, or even envy. Not because the clothes are objectively bad, but because the passage of time has shifted our relationship to those clothes. What once felt daring, fresh, or empowering may now feel cringeworthy in hindsight—not because the clothes have changed, but because we have.

There’s also something else at play, which I think of as fashion blindness. It’s the way people often fail to recognize their own fashion histories when they reappear, especially when those trends are being worn by a new generation. We like to believe we’ve moved on, that our style has evolved, and that we’ve matured. When trends from the past re-emerge, they challenge that narrative. They remind us that fashion is cyclical, and that what we once thought was outdated can suddenly be cool again. And that’s a bit unsettling. It means we were never really ahead of the curve—we were just part of it.

It’s easy to forget that every generation has had its critics. When we were younger, older people mocked our baggy jeans, our glittery makeup, our pop star obsessions. Before that, punk kids were considered outrageous, disco fans were called shallow, and hippies were accused of ruining society. Every youth culture has had to defend its choices. So why are we repeating the same pattern now?

The current wave of fashion is not just a mindless repetition of the past. It’s an evolution. Today’s teens aren’t simply dressing like it’s 2002—they’re mixing it up. The low-rise jeans are back, but they’re worn with gender-fluid styling, chunky sneakers, or soft cardigans. Shiny lip gloss and rhinestones are back, but now they're layered with natural brows or Euphoria-inspired makeup. It’s part tribute, part reinvention.

At the same time, there’s a romantic turn happening, with teenagers embracing aesthetics like cottagecore, fairycore, and soft grunge. Some drift toward lacy dresses and cozy knits, while others go for oversized hoodies and heavy boots. TikTok and Instagram have opened the doors to endless inspiration. Fashion is now a shared mood board—global, diverse, and deeply personal.

Still, many people find themselves puzzled or critical. It may be less about taste and more about how fashion challenges our place in time. Seeing younger people dress in styles we associate with our past might stir feelings of nostalgia, but also displacement. It reminds us we’re no longer the main audience fashion is speaking to. That can feel strange, even a little threatening. But it doesn't have to.

Maybe instead of mocking today’s teens for dressing in a way that feels familiar-yet-different, we could pause and recognize what they’re doing. They're taking something old and making it new again, just as people have always done. They're expressing themselves in the same way we once did—not always perfectly, not always practically, but boldly and unapologetically. Isn’t that what fashion is supposed to be?

Perhaps the real problem isn’t with today’s teens or their clothes, but with our own distance from that freedom of expression. Maybe we miss the confidence, the experimentation, the sense of possibility. And instead of admitting that, we criticize the outfits.

But we don’t have to. We can look at the pierced belly buttons, the tiny tops, the platform shoes, and see not confusion, but creativity. Not a fall in standards, but a celebration of individuality. Because fashion is not about staying the same forever—it’s about change, cycles, reinvention, and play.

So the next time we see a teenager walking confidently down the street, dressed like it’s 1999, maybe we can smile—not with judgment, but with recognition. Because whether we admit it or not, we’ve worn those jeans before. And maybe, in some way, we still are.