British Vogue feature - Trust Us, The Pastoral Fantasies Of Cottagecore Are The Perfect Antidote To Quarantine Blues
On 11 April 2013, unbeknownst to my parents, I was sitting in the back of a friend’s car on my way to Bristol. It was after midnight and I felt giddy as we bolted along the A30, the car seats pulsating to the beat of some awful drum and bass track.
Much of my adolescence was spent this way. I grew up in Dorset, a county where nearly a third of the population is over 65. I often tried to steal long weekends away in London with my older sister, but if my parents couldn’t be convinced, I would sit in my room and inhale episodes of Skins, desperate for a dose of excitement. Anything, I thought back then, was better than whiling away the hours at home in a Grade II-listed cottage, the most exciting part of my weekend digging up squash from my mum’s allotment.
But times have changed. For many teens today, a charming rustic cottage complete with thatched roof and sprawling meadow is the stuff of dreams – especially now, given that the country is on lockdown. Cottagecore, a budding aesthetic that celebrates rural domesticity, has over 71 million views on TikTok and 141,000 posts on Instagram. You can find lovers of cottagecore in puff-sleeved cotton blouses and preppy plaid skirts in chartreuse, mustard, mauve or rust. They pair jaunty newsboy hats with prairie dresses and wear silk head scarves while they bake sourdough bread.
Nineteen-year-old Molly Christie, from Hereford, discovered cottagecore a month ago when it began to trend on TikTok. For Christie, the pastoral fantasy of cottagecore is a welcome distraction from daily pressures. On TikTok, teens film themselves completing quaint household tasks, from baking to embroidery. “Some videos are of girls making tea and painting,” says Christie. “[It’s] so wholesome.”
Pinterest is another wellspring of inspiration for Christie. Her board is filled with statement sleeved dresses in ditsy prints, lace corsets with sweetheart necklines and picnic baskets sat on gingham blankets. “A lot of us are drawn to the appreciation of nature in cottagecore,” she tells me. “With school taking up so much of people’s time it can be hard to actually go out.” And with quarantine now in full force, many will be feeling the same.
Christie uses Depop, digital fashion marketplace, to pick up many of her cottagecore pieces. The trend’s thrifty, sustainable message is also something young people find particularly alluring, Christie says. Twenty-year-old Joséphine, from Florida, US, agrees. “Everything is surrounded by a sense of consumerism. Cottagecore can definitely be a way for people to escape that.” Joséphine’s wardrobe is a time capsule, brimming with immaculately laced Gunne Sax dresses from the 1970s. “It’s what my grandma used to wear,” she beams, “she even had her wedding dress made by them!”
Joséphine finds cottagecore inspiration in period films like Pride and Prejudice (2005) and Little Women (2019). Both are the work of costume designer Jacquline Durran, who specialises in making historically-accurate pieces enviable to the contemporary viewer. Durran, who won an Oscar this year for her costume designs in Little Women, works with a clothes over costume mindset as she encourages actors to style their own pieces to give the outfits a lived in, modern feel.
After its release in December, the film sparked a barrage of “How To” style guides; each promising to inject your wardrobe with a feminine elegance unmatched by any other trend. Little Women’s pervasive coolness is partly down to Durran’s creative eye, whose fresh take on period fashion feels catwalk ready. From the diaphanous ruffles found in The Vampire Wife’s new collection ‘Frill Seeker’ to the paisley print and Victoriana silhouette of Erdem’s new season, the influence of Little Women chic is far-reaching.
One designer bringing the prairie dress to the pavement is cottagecore maximalist Batsheva Hay. Hay’s vintage Laura Ashley-inspired frocks have become instant cult-classics, worn by the likes of Emma Roberts, Elle Fanning and Beanie Feldstein. “I’ve always really loved costumes,” Hay admits. “It was hard sometimes to tell [the difference] between make believe and reality.” Hay spent much of her childhood at home in her wall-to-wall Laura Ashley bedroom, while her mother thrifted antiques to fill their New York barn conversion. Far from feeling bored, Hay learned at an early age to embrace the rhythms of domestic life and found it to be “very interesting and creative”.
In an age enthralled by tidy minimalism and AirSpace interiors, Hay’s designs are defiant. “Everything in New York was so black and so minimalist,” she groans. “It was so necessary [to start] making my clothes.” Hay was well versed in the world of corporate workwear, but after quitting her job as a lawyer she began to look at her beloved vintage pieces differently. “I wanted the cut different,” Hay tells me. Her next move was to “boost up the sleeve, add a collar, add a ruffle and play with the fabric.”
The wholesome, analogue existence cottagecore champions is, it seems, underpinned by a sense of both rebellion and romanticism. “A lot of us grew up on the internet,” says Joséphine, “and because of that we learnt very quickly that the world is not always a pretty place.” Donning a tiered skirt and broderie anglaise bodice enables cottagecore lovers to briefly opt out of mainstream culture.
“It almost goes back to a time before social media and before our lives were like this,” Hay agrees, “it feels really refreshing to people.” By acknowledging the domestic simplicity these designs imply, followers of the cottagecore manage to disrupt the status quo in favour of a sliver of escapism, which does seem quite teenage after all.
Since moving to London, I remember Dorset a little more kindly. Now, when I visit my parents, I relish the quirks of country life instead of berating them. I remember I was once told by my A-Level English teacher that I was lucky to have grown up where I did. At the time, I think I rolled my eyes. But today, especially against the backdrop of a global pandemic, I have a newfound appreciation for Dorset’s backwoods. And when my mum needs help in the allotment, I head outside happily.