Text: Jasmin Sin
Ribbons, lace, and a whole lot of pink. What do all of these have in common? And, what in the world is Coquette Core?
If you’ve ever spotted a girl on the street dressed like a doll, with ribbons in her hair, a petticoat, and a parasol, you might think that you’ve accidentally stepped into a time machine—or a gaudy Back to the Future (1985) knock-off—that has magically whisked you back to the 18th-century, when wide panniers and tight bodices were the standard. But, unfortunately, that is (probably) not the case. You may have just had your first encounter with Lolita Core, a Japanese ultra-feminine fashion subculture inspired by the clothing of young women from the Victorian and Rococo eras.
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed that hyperfemininity has cycled back into fashion on a carousel of viral microtrends. From idolising Barbie to glamorising Marie Antoinette, recent Gen Z women’s fashion trends have leaned into celebrating gender-normative designs that scream delicateness, daintiness, and soft-spoken expression as aesthetic staples and must-have accessories. I’ve always believed that trends are social, and fashion microtrends are no exception. It is never just about the clothes. Microtrends come and go, but the glossy fashion merry-go-round just keeps spinning, always ready to deliver another familiar yet slightly reimagined twist on ribbons, bows, and a particular shade of “pretty” pink. To me, the prevailing wave of hyperfeminine aesthetics is not just about the pastel palette or the blush tones—it reflects a broader sociocultural tug-of-war. Are women reclaiming pink as an expression of power, or are we simply dressing up the dusty uniforms of femininity in prettier packaging?
Perhaps no aesthetic embodies the sticky tension around hyperfeminity more vividly—or more ornate and polarising—than Lolita Core, the lead horse in the carousel of ribbons and bows. Lolita is a princess. She romanticises the past, dabbles in needlework, and daydreams about royalty while taking graceful, small sips of her Earl Grey tea. Frills, ruffles, and tulle are a must. Lolita Core is an alternative aesthetic that lets its members live out their most extravagant dress-up fantasies. Yet its warm embrace of the inner child is often overshadowed by the controversy surrounding its namesake: Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, a novel centred around a middle-aged man’s paedophilic obsession with a 12-year-old girl.
Despite the line drawn between Nabokov’s Lolita and the Lolita Core aesthetic, the symbolic weight of the word creeps into the corner, like a sinister doll straight out of Annabelle (2014). A common critique is that Lolita Core, as a concept, however inadvertently, still plays into the voyeurism, fetishisation, and objectification of women; its aesthetic obsession with cuteness and childlike innocence reinforces age-old patterns of female self-infantilisation. The goal is to dress like a doll, but that, in itself, is arguably problematic as it feeds into the outdated script that women should be beautiful, submissive, and passive playthings for men. On this matter, New York University (NYU) scholar Teresa Bounker makes a sharp counterpoint: ‘The Lolitas of Lolita Fashion, unlike Nabokov’s Lolita, are actually a pedophile’s worst nightmare: they are not young, they are not sexualized, they are not easily exploitable, and they clearly have a lot of needs to be met.’ In other words, the fantasy being fulfilled here is not the male fantasy of female submission, but rather women reclaiming the hyperfemininity narrative on their own terms.
In the ever-growing family tree of fashion microtrends, I like to think of Coquette and Blokette as the baby sister and brother of Lolita. Both repackage and deliver a sleeker, bite-sized Gen-Z-friendly branch of hyperfemininity tailored for the mainstream market. In 2024, Nylon reported that Pinterest searches for ‘dollette coquette outfits’ tripled in November 2021, before skyrocketing fivefold in December. Compared to Lolita, Coquette is treated more lightheartedly. She brings a picnic basket and gets lost in the exquisite ball gowns of Bridgerton. She is Lana Del Rey’s hit single “Chemtrails Over The Country Club” playing in the background while you and your friends get ready for a night out.
Like Coquette, Blokette Core saw a huge boost in popularity around the 2022 World Cup. Part sports jersey, part ruffles, Blokette invites women to stake their claim in traditionally male-dominated spaces such as football stadiums and hockey rinks. Once cast as arch-nemeses, the so-called tomboys and girly girls now share the same wardrobe. Blokette is the elementary class reunion—the breakdown of the binary—where soft meets sporty and feminine meets edgy. As Alexi Alario, co-host of the Nymphet Alumni podcast and the person who coined ‘blokette’ told Coveteur, ‘Being a spunky tomboyish ‘soccer girl’ was such a defining trait in the early 2000s.’ It was even immortalised in iconic films like She’s The Man (2006).
Alario says, ‘In combining stereotypically masculine and feminine elements, blokette also represents stylistic androgyny in a way that’s more playful and casual than the shapeless neutral sacks that are often marketed as “genderless fashion.”’ Blokette defies the traditional binary and conventional vision of gender. They mix basketball shorts with laced-up corset tops, tracksuits with mini-skirts, and puffy sleeves with joggers. It is about more than just team spirit. Beyond the metaphor and their status as permanent residents of Coreville, Blokette reconceptualises streetwear for men, women, and non-binary wearers alike, ushering in a gritty next-gen lens on androgyny—one that aligns more intimately with Gen Z’s fluid approach to gender. In true Donna Haraway fashion, Blokette realises the dreams of A Cyborg Manifesto (1985), blurring the boundaries of gender, style, and fashion—refusing the binary in favour of something far more hybrid and chimeric.
Yet, the thought still lingers… Are these hyperfeminine aesthetics really for the girls, or does the male gaze manage to glare through a conveniently placed crack in the wall? After all, in French, ‘coquette’ literally means a woman who flirts, reimagining the archetype of the seductress—complete with bows, soft silhouettes, and embroidered flourishes—whilst still walking hand-in-hand with Lolita, the 2010s Tumblr ‘nymphet’ persona, and the uncomfortable trope of young, wide-eyed girls being cast as temptresses for men at least twice their age. However, while Lolita was teased by the shadows of controversy, Coquette somehow skipped onto the carousel with a light pirouette—perhaps because she offers a more palatable version of Lolita that aligns neatly with Western tastes and Eurocentric beauty standards.
Beneath Blokette’s quirky pairing of sneakers and tulle skirts lies the same muted undertone of erasure and cultural appropriation, where fashion styles rooted in marginalised communities are sanitised for mass consumption. Black and Latina women have styled sports jerseys with flair and finesse for years, but the look was only deemed fashionable once White influencers decided to join the ride, too. Blokette Core arguably commercialises the aesthetic of working-class sports culture, stripping away grassroots expressions of identity and reducing them to superficial fashion statements. As brands chase the hype and race to capitalise on trends, sportswear labels metamorphose into textbook hyperfeminine wardrobes, full of lace and frills.
But not everyone sees fashion as a reflection of society. For some, microtrends are less about social consciousness and more the product of commercial taskforces—designer-led collections, strategic marketing, and celebrity endorsements that subtly dictate what is ‘in’. Others argue that style is thoughtless and entirely up to the individual—you should wear whatever feels good, looks good, and gives you a little dopamine rush. Coreville then becomes a playground for fun and experimentation, a space for self-expression free from wider social and cultural meaning.
There’s nothing wrong with embracing hyperfeminine aesthetics. Still, I think that the international Gen Z community should remain mindful of the loose threads and hidden strings woven into the clothes that they choose to wear—especially given how these styles can quietly reinforce gender norms and influence wider social discourse. Fashion can signal far more than just a passing style choice. Though, personally, I think Vogue says it best: ‘Seeing the world through powder-pink tinted glasses might be a raunchy recipe for male gaze disaster, but only if we want it to be.’
At the end of the day, women do not dress for men, and infusing our lives with a touch of whimsical hyperfemininity is just part of the fun.
