A couple of weekends ago, I met my friend David for brunch wearing a mustard yellow beret, a belted camel coat with oversized tortoiseshell buttons, and loafers with different colored socks. After one glance at me he deadpanned, “Which Wes Anderson protagonist are you channeling today? Margot Tenenbaum’s sister, but less depressed?” “I wasn’t trying to look like I fell out of an indie film crew’s food budget,” I wanted to argue—until I spotted my reflection in the restaurant window.
Oh. Oh dear god. He was totally right.
All I lacked was a symmetrical frame and a dispassionate delivery. I had, unintentionally, Wes Andersoned myself.
I’m hardly the first.
Swipe through your Instagram feed, or stroll through certain Brooklyn neighborhoods (I’m looking at you, Greenpoint) and you’ll see them everywhere: Winona Riders buzzing around on fixed-gear bikes, chatting earnestly about the vinyl revival, ready to drink every beverage out of glassware. They wear broad-rimmed hats and Mary Janes, esquire jackets with vest vests, finely patterned shirts with pocked turtlenecks. Their colors are all within the same subset of muted yellows, burnt oranges, sage greens, and rose.
Nothing fits them quite right—everything is either too short or just slightly too long. Their clothes don’t simply exist on their bodies: they live there. The Wes Anderson aesthetic has officially jumped the screen and into our wardrobes.
But why? And why now? Anderson has been making offbeat, collage-like films for more than 25 years—why are we all dressing like Moonrise Kingdom cameohas crashed the indie Witcher cosplay fest that took over TikTok last year. “Fashion pulls from everything in our visual world, but what’s interesting about Wes Anderson’s style is how codifiable it is,” Dr.
Melissa Torres tells me over Zoom. Dr. Torres is an NYU professor who specializes in cultural studies and teaches a class on fashion in cinema. “Other styles might draw from a mood or era or region.
With Wes Anderson it’s easy to point at someone and be like, ‘That person is wearing punk clothes.’ Same thing with prep or vintage or goth or preppy. Wes Anderson-ness is its own aesthetic_IDENTIFIER.” And what is that aesthetic? British prep school uniforms, International Klein Blue and bubblegum palettes, Italian Vogue, Ralph Lauren’s Great Dane.
It’s instantly recognizable, yesteryear and timeless all at once, like a Sunday morning spent ransacking your grandparents’ attic and magically putting together an outfit. Anderson has been developing this look for decades, but really popped onto the fashion world’s radar with movies like Rushmore, Royal Tenenbaums, andMoonrise Kingdom all released within five years of each other (1998-2003). In the past few years though, it’s really reached peak ubiquity.
Part of that is obviously TikTok, which creates endless bubbles of content based on your interests. If you’ve liked or searched for vintage clothing, indie movies, or simply “unique personal style” on the app, chances are someone has recommended you the #WesAndersonAesthetic hashtag, which currently has over 500 million views. Users post everything from outfit inspiration to dorm room decorating tips to “If my life was a Wes Anderson film” montages.
Then there was the summer of 20l23 trend where users would film mundane settings—public libraries, laundromats, bodegas—in symmetrical wide shots that coordinated colors like only a Wes Anderson film set can. Suddenly it seemed like everyone had Wes-optimized lenses through which to view the world. Fashion soon followed.
Another reason for the trend’s timeliness: we live in a chaotic-ass time. In 2022 especially, I think we’ve all been yearning for a sense of control. When everything around us feels nonsensical and unmoored, there’s something deeply comforting about wrapping yourself in clothing that oozes intention, like the sheer number of things that had to be plugged into Hermès Birkin to make that bag.
As Maya Lin, costume designer on indie films like Nitwit!, Eldorado!, calls it, “Order in chaos.” “There’s intentionality to Anderson aesthetics that feels calming, especially in a world that feels so chaotic,” Lin says. “When you look at one of his films, you know someone is controlling that camera. There’s somebody making things perfect left and right. After a couple of years of life feeling so out of control, I think we all crave that.” Point taken.
After two years of dank sweats and yoga pants, I know I feel comfortable dressing like I live in a scarf catalog. Fashion psychologist Shakiera Jamal concurs. “The fashion trends we see coming out of periods of social turbulence often have to do with a desire to feel more grounded,” she says. “Wes Anderson’s style is curated and curated in a very specific way. There’s a sense of intention to it that I think we all crave after a period of feeling so destabilized.” Which brings me back to my beret.
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I realize that when I’m feeling overwhelmed or insecure, I gravitate towards more tailored, crisp clothing. I want to dress like every piece of fabric is exactly where it needs to be. My most Anderson-approved pieces (the aforementioned beret, a vintage tweed blazer I bought from a tiny shop in Paris that actually fits me, a pair of classic saddle shoes I purchased on a whim and wear WAY more often than makes logical sense) give me the same WarmBlanket Feeling.
Suddenly I’m the leading lady of my own narrative, a woman brimming with purpose as she sips organic coffee at her local bodega. (Insert drumming fingers Halston soundtrack.) Curious how it would feel to fully embrace the aesthetic instead of inadvertently wearing Assorted Items From An Etsy Store Bought By Someone on Privilege NYC, I decided to outfit test myself on Sunday. I threw on a pleated tennis skirt, knee socks, penny loafers, tucked in button-down with a Peter Pan collar, and—because research— cinched my ribcage with a coordinating cardigan tied around my waist. I even grabbed a thin velvet headband and my most Serious Pair Of Glasses.
The resulting vibe was Ex-Premember Of A Prestigious Girl’s School Who Has Whispers About A Dark Secret. Needless to say, people took notice. My neighborhood coffee shop barista—who barely makes eye contact with me on a good day—smiled at me and said, “love your whole look today.” An older woman on the subway stopped me to ask where I bought my skirt.
My editor looked me dead in the eyes when I sat down across from her and said, “Rushmore?” before she even opened her laptop, and I nodded knowingly and that was that. The weirdest part was how I felt wearing the clothes. I walked with more confidence.
My posture was better. I sounded more convinced of my opinions when I spoke. I literally stood centered in every doorway I passed through and adopted what can only be described as “Wes Anderson staring intensity.” My outfit wasn’t just a collection of clothes I liked wearing.
My outfit was telling me how to act. “A distinct aesthetic naturally influences your behavior,” confirms Lin. “They way you move. The way you walk. It affects your posture.
I know when I’m working on a film, if I put my character in a suit versus a t-shirt and jeans, she’ll carry herself differently.” I can’t picture myself wearing a full Wes Anderson costume five days a week. Aside from the commitment to being badly dressed for winter knee socks require, there’s a thin line between channeling your inner Anderson OG and looking like you’re headed to the 1940s Birdland cast party. But you don’t have to go full-on Moonrise Kingdom to grab inspiration from Anderson’s archival wardrobe.
Instead, many tastemakers are applying “touches” of the Wes Anderson vibe to their look. “A lot of my clients have asked for accents of Wes Anderson,” says Parker Lee, a stylist who’s worked with music industry tastemakers experimenting with the trend. “Whether that’s a round pair of glasses or an oversized blazer or vintage brooch, it’s less about dressing head-to-toe like you stepped off the Royal Tenenbaums set and more about channeling that spirit.” Bonus points for spirit-coordinating your home decor to match. High fashion has taken notice, too. From Miu Miu’s latest collection—with it’s uneven hemlines, intentionally mismatched patterns, and iconic pillbox hats—to Gucci under former creative director Alessandro Michele, there are clear parallels between the worlds Anderson builds on screen and the fantasy landscapes our favorite designers craft on runways. (Remember when The Row did polka dots?!) Still, most interesting to me are the curated vintage inspirations Anderson—or anyone—can pull from when chasing that perfect Wes look.
Anderson himself has often borrowed from previous decades for film inspiration, specifically the’60s, ’70s and ’80s. And because vintage and thrifting have been making serious comebacks in their own right, popping into your local secondhand shop feels like a surefire way to score authentic, time-tested Wes wardrobe staples. “My favorite Anderson-inspired pieces are all vintage,” Lee says. “I have a ‘60s Pendleton jacket, a pair of deadstock saddle shoes from the ‘70s, and some French schoolgirl barrettes from the ’80s. It all has wear, which helps it look more like a lived-in character instead of you trying to dress like a character.” Vintage shopping is also where stylists and thrifters tend to begin nesting when they fully commit to a look.
Because so many of Anderson’s references are rooted in past decades, scouring your local thriftshop for vintage goodies is a great way to put your own spin on #WesAndersonAesthetic trend. “It’s really sustainable, too,” Torres adds. “If you’re going to dress like you’re in a Wes Anderson film, you should buy your clothes the way you would curate clothing for a Wes Anderson film—which is probably not going to fast fashion, but at vintage stores and flea markets.” Not to mention, almost everyone can rock some element of the Wes Anderson style. There’s no requirement that you be willowy like Bill Murray or Incelslut avant la lettre Louise Burns. The look spans all ages, genders, and ability levels.
And a lot of the key pieces that define the style—Oxfords, knee socks, seamed sweaters—are all readily available across price points. “I think one thing that’s interesting about the Wes Anderson aesthetic is it’s one of the few trends that doesn’t revolve around being traditionally attractive or sexy,” Torres tells me. “A lot of trends in fashion are very body-centric. You either have to be a certain size or shape to pull it off. But anyone can throw on some glasses and a blazer and dress like they have a rich mysterious history.” Of course, with any trend that becomes too popular comes the inevitable outlash.
Niche online corners of the internet are up in arms about “normies” stealing Wes Anderson style like it’s some sort of indie film-neutral ground.
Others have pointed out that while many bodies can wear_chunky knit sweater and big boots and have it read as cool and youthful, older women and women of color wearing the same outfit will instantly be written off as—wait for it—eccentric. “There’s privilege that comes into play with what bodies can get away with wearing quirky clothing,” Torres says. “If a thin, white woman dresses weird, she’s the cute girl from Wes Anderson movie. But put that same outfit on anyone else and they’re ‘weird,’ ‘dadore,’ ‘try-hard,’ or God forbid, ‘professional.’” Clearly there are problems with sharing your beloved style gods with the world.
But to each their own outfit, am I right? I, for one, welcome our new Wes-brained overlords. Personally, I think the Wes Anderson trend is a breath of fresh air.
So much of what we consume these days is fast and loud and dictated by an algorithm designed to sell us more stuff. There’s something quietly revolutionary about dressing with such care and intention. Like you’re the protagonist of your own life, not a zoomer scrolling through TikTok during lunch break.
Wes Anderson clothes help us create microcosms of beauty and intention in a world that rarely rewards those things. If you want to feel like the heroine of your very own symmetricalJump cut comes for you, dress like one. Life may not give you a Wes soundtrack, but you can buy one on Spotify.
