A glimpse into the forgotten Gen X Soft Club aesthetic.
Being nostalgic for a future that will never exist is nothing new; Gen Xers did it first — but only after fantasizing about it. Sure, we now know that technology is only going to get worse until it gets better; the internet is growing increasingly hostile, AI is slowly but surely hunting all of its corners, and it has been hard to avoid digital doomerism ever since the years began to start with the number 2. There was, however, a small window of time during which these technological changes, as fast as they were being developed, brought not only hope but a joyous portrait of the future.
And thus, from the brief period between c. 1997 and 2002, the Gen X Soft Club aesthetic lived.
Coined by Sloane A. Hilton, Gen X Soft Club originated in a time marked by huge and hasty technological development that was responsible for many of the hopes and fears of these years. This was the time when the Internet was taking its first steps as a commercial vehicle and physical distance was becoming less of a nuisance in communications. Technological advancements were making the future seem bright and exciting; surfing the internet became a way of exploration, as if it were uncharted waters. The digital world was new and huge, and everyone was curious about it. All of this, together with the advances and marketability of quick and easy ways of communicating with each other (think of the “novelty of texting”), created highly abstract spaces and digital landscapes that are reflected in the art and overall aesthetic of these years. And, just as the ‘80s found its way of projecting a fictional future in flying cars and spaceships, Gen X’s future came in the shape of shifting, blurry cities painted in artificial colors and in vast and alien spaces such as the ocean or the space that aimed to mirror the artificiality and otherness of this newly discovered digital world.
All of this is better understood by picturing one of the most representative shapes of the era: the Blobject, a design style defined by the lack of sharp edges and the presence of bright colors, and is known for being the hallmark of this era’s technology. Designers such as Ross Lovegrove and Karim Rashid were some of its pioneers, working closely with these futuristic, organic shapes. In Charles Reeve’s exhibition catalog for Karim Rashid’s From 15 Minutes into the Future (2007), the blobject is mentioned in relation to the artist’s curiosity and hope for the future, reversing the, at times, terrifying expectations of previous generations regarding technological advancements. Recent references to this iconic shape include viral moments like Coperni’s Glass Mini Swipe or Diesel’s Play bag; although not in the same spirit, these models are clear examples of the functionality of the shape — even though back then the blob was the embodiment of unfulfilled potential, a shape adjustable enough to hold the infinite possibilities imagined back then.
The irregular, fluctuating roundness of the blob mirrored living organisms and cells, and yet it made the digital world feel alien and artificial instead of fully alive. Sea motives, drops of water, silver, and transparent/translucent textures were ever-present, alluding to the growing fluidity of time and space technology was enabling. Contemporary music videos, such as George Michael’s Fastlove (1996) or O-Town’s Liquid Dreams (2000), made use of these motives, and artists such as Aaliyah, Janet Jackson, and Hype Williams were part of the creators that forged this aesthetic that heavily relied on its inherent coolness, metallic textures, and real or imaginary technology. Imaginary internet spaces trickled down to architecture and design; the digital became the physical by force of using plastic materials, artificial colors, and round interiors, finding inspiration in either the retro-futuristic design of the ‘70s or the radical, bluish minimalism of spaces like waiting rooms or laboratories.
This digital, modern spirit was all mirrored in the fashion and styling of the time: the ‘90s minimalism that we all know and love, although still somehow present in the depurated lines and use of cold neutrals, shifted towards a more metallic and futuristic palette and a style that drew a lot of its elements from the UK and Japan’s club scene and contemporary hip hop fusion. This mix of minimalism and utilitarianism was seen in the presence of tube tops and clean lines, in the voracious attempts to make clothes look shiny and artificial by using polyester, mesh, and nylon, and in the ethereal makeup colors that often worked with white/silvery eyeshadows, cold shades, and shiny lip glosses.
“Statistically,” fashion photographer Sarah Moon stated, “it's a fact that every decade or so, a bubble bursts on the scene.” The novelty of image accessibility was both an overwhelming burden and a photogenic dream; consumers were bombarded with images of objects they could access but could not have at the same time. In many ways, they were the first ones to translate digital sensibilities into the real world through images. The heavy reliance on abstract environments and online artificiality made it hard to recreate; however, it was slow in a world that was getting faster by the second. The social issues that go into the bursting of a bubble may vary, but its fabric is the same — in chasing novelty, fashion always meets its limitations, and, as the recession hit, the social spirit shifted towards evasion rather than optimism, leaving way to what we now call the Y2K aesthetic.
At its very core, Gen X Soft Club did not just address the new contemporary digital reality in which Gen Xers lived; it also translated digital landscapes to metaphors, tying together the new technological reality that came from the expansion of cyberspace. The newly developed digital landscape came with a deep sense of displacement: "If not here, then everywhere else,” it seemed to scream. Privacy suddenly dissipated, and in its place appeared a world in which being a voyeur into someone else’s life was the norm. This new fear of voyeurism and promiscuity is seen in MVs such as Jennifer Lopez’s “If You Had My Love” (1999), in which a woman’s life was completely accessible via livestream (this fear was later on embraced, giving birth to reality TV…). Some of these issues feel eerily contemporary; instead of solving the problem, time would only aggravate it.
As Gen X’s future catches up on us, are we revisiting its futuristic optimism, or have the remnants of this aesthetic taken on a new meaning in today’s digital world? The promised digital land has already been explored, and the new technological reality is not looking that good. We now find ourselves in a sort of neo-retrofuturistic idealism that can be seen in a lot of the designs, colors, photographs and materials used in contemporary fashion and art: from Pat McGrath’s glossy, synthetic Glass Skin for Margiela to the rediscovery of old tech and their design (such as Coperni’s bag/CD player or the iPod Nano/hair clips), Soft Club’s projected future is being simultaneously projected onto ours.
Our way of keeping up with the future is, however, subtle and slow. As the fear of technological advances and of being under a constant state of surveillance impregnates our social fabric once again, we find ourselves yearning for a time in which the Internet was a place of easy exploration and fun. There have been subtle attempts at rekindling this spirit by repurposing technology (the mentioned iPod Nanos as hair clips, wires as hair ties, used fish nets as t-shirts…), resurrecting the hazy portrayal of urban life, mixing terrestrial and alien looks, or reintroducing club music to the mainstream. New anti-surveillance spirit is often seen but rarely explicitly experienced: high-fashion moments like LOEWE’s SS25 feather masks, brands like OHMNI (self-described as the “last frontier at preserving your privacy, autonomy, and rights over your body and your data”), MVs such as Amaia’s “M.A.P.S" or album concepts such as Oklou’s choke enough; they all seek to highlight the state of surveillance and the impossibility of keeping up with internet images.
If the fears of these years were unfounded, why are they still present? As we sit and witness AI infiltrate every single aspect of our lives, the alienation of workers in the fashion industry, could we take refuge in an organically artificial cyber-landscape? By propelling this ultra artificiality, by willing digital landscapes into reality, can we also transform the future of fashion into a more sustainable way of repurposing technological waste? The future certainly points in that direction right now, just as it did back in 1999. And perhaps this bubble will burst, too. In the meantime, the cities should remain blurred. 🌀
Paula Luengo is a freelance writer based in Madrid. Her writing explores subjects that go from music to fashion and media analysis, with a nostalgic eye for the old and battered. Find her on X, on IG, or anywhere in between.