Not Everything Is Chic

Like can we stop.

It feels like my TikTok algorithm quite literally hates to see me coming. Because tell me why every single time I open up the app, every other video is a girl with her mini microphone telling us what she finds incredibly chic.

For instance, earlier today, I opened TikTok because I was bored and wanted to quickly, but not so subtly, reward my brain’s system. AKA dopamine, the “feel good” hormone that gets triggered anytime you scroll to a new, exciting, and highly personalized video.

Anyway, I unfortunately stumbled across a video from a fellow content creator listing the things she found chic versus the things she didn’t.

She started off with a list of things she found incredibly oh-so-chic, including a woman who can think for herself (duh, but okay, next), short nails, and long phone calls. She then went on to tell us about things she finds incredibly unchic: chunky silver jewelry (uh, okay?), booty cracks, toe cleavage, and women who love to make men their whole personality (okay, this one I can get behind).

As I sat on my veranda listening to this endless list while simultaneously rolling my eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder: why? Why have we become so obsessed with this one word? Not everything is chic, or is it? Have I been missing something all along?

There is a type of content dominating internet culture right now. The clean girl morning routine. The perfectly organized refrigerator and linen closet. The matcha made in a hand-thrown ceramic mug and eventually transferred into one of those Anthropologie Icon Juice glasses. The city apartment that somehow looks both lived in and brand new at the same time.

And during or after each of these fifteen-second videos, whether through narration or in the comment section, we hear the same phrases over and over again: “Ugh, so chic.” “That’s chic.” “Oh my God, you’re so chic.”

Now, I don’t want you to think I sound like a pessimist because, at the end of the day, there is nothing wrong with admiring the little things in life. The beautiful things. But I think, as a society, we have reached a point where we are trying to make every aspect of life look prettier than it actually is.

Let’s set the record straight here, shall we? Not everything is chic.

Trying to find a job or internship in this brutal job market is not chic. Getting rejected is definitely not chic. Using wallpaper on every wall in your house is not chic. Quite frankly, it’s more mortifying than anything else. And crying in your childhood bedroom after college graduation is definitely not chic.

Neither is sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, arguing with Susan from customer service about a problem that should have been solved three weeks ago. You know what else isn’t chic? Missing someone who doesn’t miss you back, or staying at home on a Friday night catching up on laundry and your favorite TV shows while all your friends are out at the bars.

But those things were never intended to be chic. That is just life. A life that we all unknowingly sign up for.

Somewhere along the way, we have started treating ordinary life moments as if they were a Vogue cover shoot. Every coffee run has to become content. Every vacation needs a Part One and Part Two photo dump on Instagram and TikTok. Every apartment corner needs to look like it belongs in Architectural Digest. Every meal needs to be plated, photographed, and approved by strangers on Instagram Stories before we can even enjoy it.

We have become obsessed with the presentation of life. The actual living part has become secondary.

I think about this every time I see someone romanticizing their life on the internet. The rooftop cocktails. The luxury amenities. The morning Pilates classes. The expensive candle burning beside a laptop while they answer emails. And at the center of it all, there is always one word sitting there. Whether it appears in the video, the caption, or the comments: chic.

What people rarely show is the constant anxiety about rent, the uncertainty about careers, the loneliness that comes with moving to a new city and starting over, the feeling of wondering whether you have made the right decision, and the moments when you genuinely have no idea where your life is headed.

Those moments are not chic. They are real. And maybe that is exactly why they matter the most.