For better or for worse, I’ve always stayed up to date with the latest fashion trends – I endured the Ugg Boots of the mid-2000s, I wore Livestrong Bands proudly on my wrists, I even have a teddy jacket deep in my closet from that one dark winter of 2019. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that low-rise jeans and velour sweatsuits are climbing their way out of the pits of fashion Tartarus and any day now I’ll be walking around again with JUICY plastered on my ass. But there is one fashion trend that I would sell my firstborn over wearing it again because going through its renaissance a decade ago was enough: the peplum top.
It’ll be a frigid day in hell before I put on another one of those puffy-waisted spawns from hell on my body again.
A word of warning to you youngins’ who might be scrolling through TikTok and have come across an innocent-seeming peplum top, captivated by its hourglass silhouette: don’t. The intense number of ruffles are there to mesmerize you into thinking it’s “cute” or “twee” when in fact it’s a visual siren song, distracting you from realizing there is no logical reason to wear a top that resembles a parachute at best and a flaccid jellyfish at worst.
I fell for the same illusions when peplum reared its ugly head in the 2010s. It was a sunny spring day when I innocently walked by an Urban Outfitters window display and saw the frilly monstrosity on one of their mannequins. I’ll admit, I was intrigued. Upon trying it on, I was sold. The loose lower half meant my stomach could breathe easy after a hearty meal. It was like a skirt for my torso – I could twirl around and watch it puff in the air like the ultimate cottagecore picnic bitch.
I look back at all the photos from that era with a deep shame now.
No amount of all-you-can-eat buffets are worth wearing a top that makes you resemble two triangles touching each other at the tips like a cubist painting gone wrong. As I walked around with false confidence from channeling Regency era vibes, I didn’t realize all the cursed peplum top did was create a confusing optical illusion of proportions. I was not a quirky modern-day Jane Austen heroine; I was a mushroom torso with stumpy legs.
So, to those drinking the Kool-Aid of the current peplum revolution, please hear my harrowing story and take proper caution. Don’t doom yourself to repeating my mistakes — learn from history.
Seriously, just Google “2010s Disney Channel red carpet” and you will understand.
