Hi, My Name Is Sarah, and I'm a Recovering Dark Academia Enthusiast
"Hi, Sarah."
It started innocently enough. I saw one TikTok of a girl reading Donna Tartt in a turtleneck sweater, and suddenly I was convinced I was meant to spend my life in libraries wearing tweed blazers and discussing philosophy over tea. Three weeks and $400 later, I owned seventeen brown sweaters and had never actually finished The Secret History.
Photo: Donna Tartt, via diamondpaint.pro
I'm here today because I know I'm not alone. We've all been there—caught in the intoxicating grip of an aesthetic that promised to transform not just our wardrobes, but our entire existence. We are the aesthetic adopters, the Pinterest board curators, the people who've lived a thousand lives through our closets and abandoned them all by Tuesday.
Stage One: The Discovery High
It always starts the same way. You're mindlessly scrolling through social media when BAM—you see it. The aesthetic that speaks to your soul. Maybe it's cottagecore, with its promise of flour-dusted aprons and wildflower meadows. Perhaps it's "clean girl" energy that suggests you could look effortlessly perfect with just the right $47 hair oil.
Sudenly, your current wardrobe feels like a costume for a person you no longer want to be. Those jeans and basic tees? They belong to the old you—the you who didn't understand that life could be lived as curated content.
The dopamine hit is immediate and powerful. You've found your people, your vibe, your entire future self. You start following accounts, saving posts, creating Pinterest boards with names like "my coastal grandmother era" and "autumn academia mood."
Stage Two: The Shopping Frenzy
This is where things get dangerous. Armed with inspiration and a complete disregard for your bank account, you embark on what you tell yourself is an "investment in your new lifestyle."
For cottagecore, you need: prairie dresses, wicker baskets, floral prints, anything that suggests you might spontaneously start baking bread or befriending woodland creatures. The fact that you live in a studio apartment in downtown Portland is irrelevant. You are manifesting your cottage destiny.
Dark academia requires: tweed everything, leather satchels, vintage-looking jewelry, and at least fourteen different brown and beige sweaters. You buy a fountain pen even though you haven't handwritten anything longer than a grocery list since 2019.
Coastal grandmother demands: linen shirts that cost more than your rent, neutral tones, natural textures, and an inexplicable collection of ceramic bowls. You purchase a wide-brimmed hat despite living in Seattle where it rains 300 days a year.
Stage Three: The Performance Period
For approximately two to three weeks, you are committed. You are method acting your new aesthetic with the dedication of someone preparing for an Oscar role.
You wake up early to carefully curate your cottagecore outfit, complete with a floral headband that makes you look like you're about to milk a cow (in the best way, you tell yourself). You carry your Dark Academia leather satchel to Starbucks and order tea instead of your usual iced coffee with three pumps of vanilla syrup.
You document everything. Instagram stories of your "coastal grandmother morning routine" that involves drinking coffee from your new ceramic mug while gazing pensively out the window. TikToks of your book collection arranged just so, even though you're still reading the same romance novel you started three months ago.
Your friends are confused but supportive. "Very... earthy," they say about your new cottagecore phase, the same way they might compliment a particularly abstract art piece.
Stage Four: The Quiet Retreat
It happens gradually, then all at once. The prairie dress starts feeling costume-y. The tweed blazer is scratchy and makes you look like someone's stern librarian aunt. The linen shirt wrinkles if you breathe on it wrong, and you're tired of looking like you've been through a wind tunnel by 10 AM.
You don't make an announcement. There's no formal breakup with your aesthetic. You just... stop. The cottagecore dress gets pushed to the back of the closet. The Dark Academia sweaters migrate to the "maybe someday" pile. The coastal grandmother linen collection becomes very expensive pajamas.
You find yourself reaching for your old jeans again. The ones that know your body and don't judge you for eating a breakfast burrito or sitting normally in a chair.
Stage Five: The New Aesthetic Cycle
Here's the thing about aesthetic addiction: it's cyclical. Just when you think you've learned your lesson, just when you've made peace with your regular human wardrobe, you see it. The next trend. The next lifestyle that promises to finally make you the person you're meant to be.
Maybe it's "mob wife" aesthetic. Maybe it's "vanilla girl" minimalism. Maybe it's whatever new lifestyle influencers are selling this week. And despite everything—despite the abandoned Pinterest boards and the closet full of costume pieces—you feel that familiar flutter of possibility.
The Truth About Aesthetic Adoption
Here's what the recovery program teaches us: aesthetics aren't actually about clothes. They're about identity, about the person we think we want to become, about the life we imagine we'd live if we could just find the right uniform for it.
We adopt these visual languages because they promise transformation. Cottagecore suggests a simpler, more connected life. Dark Academia implies intellectual depth and mysterious sophistication. Coastal grandmother offers serene, effortless elegance.
But here's the plot twist: you can't buy a personality. You can't purchase a lifestyle. And you definitely can't become a different person just by changing your clothes—though god knows we've all tried.
Recovery and Acceptance
The goal isn't to never be inspired by aesthetics again. The goal is to recognize them for what they are: temporary sources of inspiration, not complete identity overhauls.
Maybe you keep one cottagecore dress that makes you happy. Maybe you wear that Dark Academia blazer when you want to feel scholarly. Maybe you use those coastal grandmother ceramics because they bring you joy, not because you're trying to become someone else.
The healthiest relationship with aesthetics is the one where you cherry-pick what serves you and leave the rest for someone else's Pinterest board.
After all, the best aesthetic is the one that feels like you—even if "you" doesn't fit neatly into any trendy category.
Meeting adjourned. Same time next week, when we'll be discussing "Maximalist Recovery: Learning to Live with Less Than Seventeen Throw Pillows."
