By Eva Koh

The Good, the Bad, and the Marginalised

If you’ve been on the internet in recent years, you’re probably no stranger to the ‘Clean Girl’ aesthetic – a trend popularised on TikTok that promotes wellness, minimalism, and natural beauty to achieve effortless “off-duty model” looks and portray a put-together life.

On the surface, the aesthetic can be credited to boosting healthy habits: regular exercise, ample hydration and healthy eating through the creation of a glamorised version of self-care. Pioneered by celebrities like Bella Hadid and Hailey Bieber, this almost cult-like idolisation of an ideal lifestyle could explain why it took the internet by storm, filling pinterest boards and instagram feeds with images of foamy matcha lattes, morning yoga, minimalist makeup, pulled back hair and gold hoop earrings.

However, like all things in life, just as Clean Girl has a good side, it has its downsides, the latter being the creation of an unrealistic ideal for women to strive towards as well as a trend that dives head first into cultural appropriation.

Cultural Appropriation, in this Economy?

Cultural appropriation is described to be “the act of adopting elements from one culture by members of another in a disrespectful or exploitative manner” (Ruth, 2024). It is a concept that emerged in academic discourse in the late 20th century and its relevance has only grown in an age of hyper-visibility, where elements of culture can be extracted, rebranded, and circulated globally within hours. And this is not a benign exchange occurring on equal terms. Instead, it reflects older colonial patterns of power – a form of ‘neo-colonialism’, in which the Global North continues to benefit from the cultural, social, and intellectual labour of the Global South (Chan & Patten, 2023). The Clean Girl aesthetic is merely one of the many modern trends that subtly reinforces these imbalances.

Underneath the illusion of healthy living and a hydrating face-mask, lies a darker pattern of influencers discovering “new” ground breaking (things synonym but in the context of aspects of trends) that piggyback off of the heritage and culture of marginalised communities. Depictions of the clean girl on social media are dominated by white women, contributing to the cruel double-standard where the practice of one’s culture (mainly, the cultures of people of colour) is criticised and punished but when celebrities or influencers (predominantly of the white, wealthy and thin demographic) become involved, its consumption is more palatable.

Of course, no one person can truly own a look, but the line between appreciation and appropriation does seem to be getting thinner than ever. So what better way to understand the issue than to start right at the beginning?

Behind the Aesthetic’s “Essentials”

Matcha did not arrive in the Clean Girl universe as a “wellness accessory”. Its use can be dated back to the Tang Dynasty in China, and later on in its ritual importance in Japan after its introduction in the 1100s (McNamee, 2025) where it has become deeply embedded in Japanese culture as seen with their tea ceremonies, or ‘chado’ (Matcha Direct n.d.). The ritual encourages mindfulness, discipline and social connection between host and guest as they share a “once in a lifetime” moment (Urasenke n.d.). This experience is sharply contrasted by the individualised culture promoted by today’s lifestyle content that has stripped the drink of its meaning. Tragically dubbed a “basic white girl drink” or bandwagoned into the ‘Performative Male’ corner, what was once ceremonial has become another victim of TikTok virality.

Hair oiling has fallen down a similar path. Within South Asian communities, oiling is an act rooted in tradition with techniques that have been passed down in families for generations – mothers and grandmothers tending to hair as an intimate act of love, ritual and identity. To see that heritage rebranded with a catchy new name, while South Asian women have historically been ridiculed for “greasy hair”, has understandably made practitioners upset at the longstanding hypocrisy that the tradition becomes desirable only once it is filtered through whiteness.

Even the beloved Clean Girl bun carries cultural weight. The slicked back hairstyle has deep roots in Latino and Black culture, where it is worn for both its aesthetic and practical value. These communities have been policed and criticised for the very look: labelled “unprofessional,” “unkempt,” or “too ethnic.” Now, it is celebrated on social media for its elegance and simplicity.

What connects these examples is not coincidence; it is a predictable cycle of selective celebration where deep-rooted practices are emptied of their original significance to better fit the demands of a trend built for visual consumption.

The Slow Unravelling of the Clean Girl Ideal

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As the online tide turns, the Clean Girl aesthetic has increasingly come under fire – not only for the individual elements it borrows but the mindset it promotes. The focus is less about matcha or makeup and more about the narrative woven around them, one that subtly warps the narrative on who gets to be perceived as “polished”, “healthy” and “beautiful”.

Even the name itself has become a point of scrutiny. The existence of a Clean Girl alludes that any divergence from this fabricated norm – textured skin, bold makeup, visible acne, or simply a body that exists outside specific proportions– to be what, dirty? This binary view is not just aesthetically restrictive; it is socially charged in relation to discourse on the correlations between desirability, whiteness and affluence.

That being said, the nature of Clean Girl as a viral internet trend has meant that now, three years later, it feels dated – an echo of a moment obsessed with discipline, optimisation, and quiet luxury.

With this decline, invites a reimagining. Rather than rejecting cross-cultural sharing, the conversation must shift towards cultural appreciation: engaging with origins respectfully, crediting communities openly, and understanding that embracing something aesthetically beautiful should also mean acknowledging its lineage.

In that sense, the fall of the Clean Girl aesthetic may not be a cultural loss at all, but an opportunity—an invitation to build narratives that are expansive rather than exclusionary, and that honour the histories of the people who shaped them long before they appeared on our feeds.

References

Chan, S. Y., & Patten, A. (2023). What’s Wrong with Neocolonialism: The Case of Unequal Trade in Cultural Goods. American Political Science Review, 118(4), 1643–1657. doi:10.1017/S0003055423000795

Matcha Direct. (n.d.) The History and Cultural Significance of Matcha. https://matchadirect.kyoto/blogs/matcha-101/japanese-matcha-tea-history#ruffruff-table-of-contents-item-1​

McNamee, G.L. (2025). Matcha. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/matcha​

Ruth, M. (2024) Cultural Appropriation. EBSCO. https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/political-science/cultural-appropriation​

Urasenke. (n.d) An Introduction to Chado. https://www.urasenke.or.jp/texte/about/chado/​

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