(Her tributes to films like The Cheetah Girls are what first came across my FYP, and I have been hooked ever since.) “Everyday girls with normal body types of all different shapes and sizes are posting content with confidence and encouraging other women to feel confident in their bodies as well. “From the modeling industry to Hollywood entertainment, the evolution of inclusion has definitely come a long way,” says Hikari Fleurr who creates hyperfeminine content that focuses on the Y2K and ’90s aesthetics.
#Hyper feminine series
“Times have changed and everyone’s allowed in, so liking pink and lip gloss can be cool again,” says Becca Moore, a content creator who calls her brand “dumb blond satire.” Moore’s TikTok account has almost a million followers you’ve probably seen her series on things “not for guys” in which she speaks directly to camera in front of a pink Notes app-like background, listing things that men shouldn’t have, like cars (they should run instead) and stores (they should hunt). They were curvy they were brown and Black they were disabled they were queer, trans, and nonbinary. They weren’t all white they weren’t all skinny they weren’t all blond with blue eyes. But in even more ways, these content creators looked nothing like the woman I grew up socialized to aspire to. In some ways, they looked a lot like the girls I grew up wanting to be: perfectly manicured, with all the latest beauty and fashion trends mastered - the kind of woman who always smells good. As my algorithm grew to know me better than I know myself, my For You Page became a collection of makeup tutorials, shopping hauls, and girls unapologetically being girls, gossiping about boys, decked out in pink and glitter. Like most people in their late 20s, I finally downloaded the app during the early days of lockdown.
My hyperfeminine awakening came courtesy of the TikTok girlies, as the lingo goes. Hyperfemininity for one, hyperfemininity for all The same way the magazine covers were telling me everything I wasn’t, these people were telling me everything I couldn’t be - namely, smart and girly worthy and feminine. But it’s taken me just as long to realize a lot of the damage that came from the girly-girl naysayers the teachers who chided me for carrying a purse to class, the friends who mocked my speech pattern with an accentuated valley girl lilt. It’s taken me years to unpack the damage that those years did to my self-image. I was in middle school the first time I went on a diet in high school my friends and I went on Weight Watchers together, and by college, I had whittled my body down to a trim size 2 thanks to a diet of egg whites, Melba toast, plain yogurt, and Babybel cheese. I remember pining after the visible hip bones of my friends in their low-rise jeans and seeing magazine covers with young female celebs who were half my size being lambasted for their weight.
I also experienced the dark underbelly of the hyperfemininity that marked the early aughts. At school my peers thought the height of fashion was a Tom Brady jersey or Jack Rogers slides, and names like bimbo and ditz followed me from middle school on, despite the fact that I carried straight A’s for most of my academic career. But in suburban New England, it also made me a pariah. I wore makeup to school every single day, I glued french manicure press-ons from the drugstore to my nails, I had every pair of neon sweatpants from Victoria’s Secret PINK, and I still have the magenta monogram Coach pochette that I begged my mother for when I graduated fifth grade. I went through puberty in the Limited Too dressing room and I am still chasing the high of coming home from school to watch new episodes of Lizzie McGuire and Phil of the Future.įor girly girls like me, it was paradise. I was born in 1993, which means I came of age right after the hyperfemininity of the ’90s and in the throes of Y2K, the golden age of all things glittery and pink.
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