The Problem With the Fashion Ick

Don't yuck someone else's yum—they're learning here!

I got my first job when I was 14 years old. My first three jobs ever were at restaurants—and if working in the food industry for a number of years taught me anything (and it certainly taught me a lot), it was that everyone has different tastes. Even more so, it taught me that no matter what someone orders, the correct thing to do is smile and say, “Okay, coming right up.”

During a two-year stint at Chipotle, I wrapped thousands of burritos—faint calluses forming on my hands from tightly (and quickly) tucking burning-hot tortillas around rice, beans, and guac (it’s extra, by the way). I scooped hundreds of burrito bowls and folded dozens of tacos. For the most part, anyone who came through the line had a pretty generic order: white rice, black beans, chicken, and so on…except for one regular customer we’ll call John. We saw John probably twice a week, and throughout the two years of making John’s order, it never changed—and it never ceased to amaze me. It was:

No rice, two scoops of black beans, three cups full of the juice from the black beans, chicken, two scoops of cheese, three generous scoops of red hot sauce, and a sprinkle of cheese on top.

Though in my head I was thinking to myself, “This man seriously has stomach lining made of titanium and should be studied by science,” John was none the wiser, and left happily with his order every time. While it’s certainly something I would never order for myself, there was something nice about knowing that John was so sure about his order, and that he was walking away with a creation that he was proud of. This is someone who had clearly experimented enough to know exactly what he wanted in that bowl, no matter what anyone else said. Respect.

A few years later, I hung up my apron and became a nanny for a family with two small children—both boys. The younger brother, just 2 years old at the time, was completely enthralled with whatever the older brother was interested in. Magnetiles (if you know, you know), toy cars, chicken nuggets—it all seemed so incredibly cool in his sweet, wide eyes. I mean, seriously, this kid looked at his older brother like he hung the moon. So, when dinner time came around, I served them at their little table and held my breath…hoping that the older brother wouldn’t exclaim “Yuck!” as he often did. Like clockwork, each time this happened, the younger brother would mimic his older brother’s theatrical disgust and refuse to eat his broccoli…even though I knew for a fact he loved broccoli. Awesome.

I’m sure you’re wondering, “What exactly does any of this have to do with personal style?” And, I promise, I’m getting somewhere—I’m not just sharing my resume highlights for fun here. I’m talking about the concept of “yucking someone else’s yum” (a phrase I would often use in my nannying days). Essentially, making a stink about not liking something that someone else might love—just for the hell of it.

There’s a phrase coined by Gen Z that, at least for my peers, has altered our perception of people—maybe even permanently—and sums up this concept perfectly. The infamous Ick. This cultural movement is completely ruthless, shortening our collective fuse for anything even slightly less than cool, or “normal”. The problem with this is that what is considered “cool” and/or “normal” is completely subjective—and this subjectivity likely stems from deeply personal context that someone else may not be privy to. Like, say, a vintage t-shirt that your friends think is absolutely atrocious…they don’t understand it at all. But, it once belonged to your grandfather who seemed larger than life and completely fabulous when you were growing up, and it makes you feel a certain way when you wear it. Or, maybe you just like it, and that’s perfectly valid, too. But if you’re a Creative Pragmatist, we know that more often than not, there are complex layers beyond the “why” of the things that we like.

Thinking about these anecdotes that I’ve written here, I think it’s interesting the difference in ages and stages of life between John and the 2 year old boy. Both individuals are more or less faced with the same scenario—judgement against things that they like—but respond completely different from one another. A 2 year old is undeveloped in both his tastes and confidence, resulting in him foregoing something that he actually likes because someone had a strong opinion about it—and even though he knows that he likes broccoli, he might not have the vocabulary to articulate to himself or others exactly why he likes broccoli. John, a grown man, has his tastes drilled down to a science and knows exactly what he wants, despite what the person on the other side of the counter is thinking. And I’d bet that if I made a comment, he would tell me exactly why he prefers this order over something else on the menu.

To me, this is a clear depiction of establishing independent thought over time. Both for personal style, and for life in general.

It’s interesting to me that over the last five years of hearing the CP Principles that Amy stitched together starting back in 2019, that these principles still ring true today—and they extend far beyond the closet. Knowing who you are, training your inner dialogue to process information, remaining curious and open to discourse—these are all principles that help people grow from the uncertain proverbial 2 year old, into an individual that understands what they want, and why.

For fear of rambling, I’ll leave you with this. No matter where you are in understanding your personal style, no matter how confident you are in your personal identity, take these principles to heart. Chew on them, let them marinate. And I promise that eventually, someone’s TikTok “ick” compilation will be entertaining at best, and white noise at worst.