The internet is obsessed with the It Girl. If you’re a woman of a certain age and consumer demographic, 10 minutes scrolling on TikTok is usually all it takes to expose you to a barrage of content about the elusive archetype (used relatively interchangeably with the moniker “cool girl”) — who she is, what she wears, what she eats, what she buys, and most importantly, how to become her. Your algorithm’s It Girl of choice might be Lily-Rose Depp, Alexa Demie, Matilda Djerf, or someone else altogether based on your content preferences. Go down the It Girl rabbit hole and you’ll be introduced to TikTok’s cottage industry of self-styled It Girl influencers, who offer up their social media (and Amazon affiliate links) as a guide on how consumers can attain the persona for themselves.
It would be inaccurate, of course, to say that the It Girl obsession is an internet-era phenomenon. Everyone has always been obsessed with the It Girl, even before we were all online, and we probably always will be obsessed with her. The elusive archetype is a singular figure in the collective consciousness, and it holds deep cultural importance. How would we understand the 50s if not for Marilyn Monroe? Who holds a mirror to the counterculture ethos of 90s youth culture like Chloë Sevigny? Whether it’s Naomi Campbell, Paris Hilton, or Edie Sedgwick, a true It Girl serves as a prism for the world in which she lives; she both reflects the culture around her and helps change it, singlehandedly. Everyone wants to be her, but she’s defined by her elusiveness. The rarity of the It Girl persona has always been central to its cultural appeal: if everyone could be an It Girl, then no one would be.
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This makes it a bit unnerving that a version of the It Girl persona is now being hawked as a commodity to a massive and eager audience. On social media, the “cool girl” archetype — and the fantasy that anyone could become her — functions like a carrot dangling on a stick. If the viral videos are to be believed, being an It Girl online is about buying the right items (often fast-fashion pieces overpriced just enough to feel vaguely luxurious), religiously following trends (rather than operating outside them), and, of course, consuming a never-ending stream of content that teaches you how to optimise your existence to the consumer in your head. It Girl influencers prove their expertise by making and posting lists of their coolest traits, their most enviable moments, and their impeccable taste and style — but rarely stray outside of a universalized, one-size-fits-all aesthetic One popular video outlines a 25-step list about how to become a Cool Girl (used online essentially as an It Girl byword), with the first and most crucial bullet point emphasising that one mustn’t care how she’s perceived.
This is an obvious contradiction in terms that lays bare the tension in pursuing Cool or It Girl status through consumption: the state of being effortless, aloof, nonchalant, largely offline, and unaffected by micro-trends is often what makes her such a fetishised figure. She appears to be living her life rather than looking for attention, but an unmistakable part of the appeal, of course, is that she always appears to get it anyway. The It Girl, as she exists in the consumer consciousness, is a fantasy of authenticity. As such, the act of attempting to project a kind of cookie-cutter It Girl-hood often inherently contradicts the reasons why it’s such an attractive persona in the first place.
This might seem like a flaw in the It Girl industrial complex, but in practice it operates more like a feature: when becoming a one is made impossible by the very process of attempting to be one, your goal is left perpetually out of reach. That leaves the consumer ever-hungry for new items to purchase, new diets to try, and of course, more videos from the It Girl influencers who promise to bring them closer and closer to It Girl status — leaving out, of course, that the harder you try, the further away you get.
The same could be said for It Girl fashion. The It Girl’s clothes are coveted in large part because of the aura of the person wearing them; that coolness is often generated by the It Girl’s originality and innovative taste. It’s that essence that makes her an enviable object. When the masses try to emulate that essence by buying whatever she wears, they end up negating the very quality they often truly wanted in the first place. Their ambitions are never realised by buying Zara designer dupes or changing their eyeliner shape, because the aesthetic (once removed from the lifestyle and persona that birthed it) doesn’t really mean much on its own; thus, they’re always ready to buy something new.
This dynamic, while unfulfilling for consumers, has always been very, very good for corporations. The corporate capitalisation of the It Girl persona is no secret — through PR pitches, influencer campaigns, and SEO marketing, branding clothing items as a step towards becoming a perpetually-enviable downtown girl has become an integral part of the fashion industry. Despite the vibe that made the aesthetic desirable, the mass-marketable version of the It Girl isn’t about individuality, unpredictability, or elusiveness: it’s about convincing people to pay to fit into a box that’s largely been prescribed to them by advertisers ad corporations alike.
In a social media landscape that increasingly perpetuates obsessive self-surveillance, curated self-awareness, and constant performance, it’s obvious why the offline, effortless, unaffected It Girl persona is both universally fetishised and entirely out of reach. Now, to be above the self-conscious chatter of online brand-building is the ultimate luxury; even e-stars like Emma Chamberlain are starting to conspicuously distance themselves from the internet. The It Girl fantasy is ultimately one of freedom. You can’t buy that from an affiliate link.