EDITOR’S NOTEBOOK: Everything is y2k

Featured photo: The author circa 2008. It was all about the undereye eyeliner.

This past weekend, I found myself sifting through the racks at nearby Goodwills in search of just the right top. It had to be neon-adjacent, preferably like a bright pink or chartreuse, maybe with some bejeweled butterflies. If it had ruffle sleeves and was cropped, all the better. 

Next, on to the bottoms: I needed a denim miniskirt maybe. Or how about some cargo shorts? Would bright orange basketball shorts work? I pushed past skinny jeans, stretchy leggings and maxi skirts until I spied the answer to my call: Black baggy cargo pants. Bingo.

I am, of course, talking about the search for a y2k aesthetic.

You see, I’m going to a y2k party in a few weekends, and I need the right fit.

A few of the things I have in my closet could potentially work, but I really wanted to go all in. Get the elastic choker. Wear the butterfly clips. Adorn the blue eyeshadow. Become brat, if you will.

It’s honestly been so much fun and also exhausting and also hilarious.

Because we all know that what goes around comes back around, in terms of fashion and trends. 

When I was in college — which was now about 15 years ago (*cries in early onset back pain*) — I was endlessly chasing the ’80s aesthetic by buying Members Only jackets, dad sweaters and vinyl records. But now, Gen Z has made it so that some of what I consider to be the cringiest trends from my past are somehow the lewk. The vibe. The drip.

And I wholly intend on eating up at this damn party. (Editor’s note: Don’t come after me Zoomers for the use of your language. I’m old, and I’m trying. Let me have this.)

So there I was, on a Sunday afternoon trying on crop top after halter top after ruched top with drawstrings. And on the way home, I blasted Motion City Soundtrack and JoJo (whatever happened to her?!) through my car’s speakers.

If you had asked 12-year-old me if this is what I was going to be doing in two decades, I would have laughed in my face and called now-32-year-old me “an epic fail.”

But alas, everything these days is y2k.

And honestly, I’m not mad about it.