In 2018, as I entered the world of YouTube, I grew familiar with a face that many girls my age knew, Emma Chamberlain. She was everything I wanted to be. Funny, stylish, relatable and authentic in a way that seemed effortlessly appealing. She embodied a blend of awkwardness and confidence, a refreshing departure from the polished personas I was used to seeing on social media. She became the prototype for what it meant to be cool, fun and casually chic. Chamberlain was the blueprint — a model of aspiration that countless girls, including myself, admired and tried to emulate.
But becoming Emma Chamberlain wasn’t as easy as adopting her dialect or copying her witty humor. Becoming Emma Chamberlain came with a price. You needed her iconic “teddy coat,” an oversized, brown fluffy fleece hoodie that looked like a teddy bear. You needed a scrunchie on your wrist or in your hair. You needed to buy iced coffees from her favorite coffee shop, Philz. You had to integrate her style into your life, piece by piece. Chamberlain capitalized on this lifestyle brand, opening a web store where her floral scrunchies sold out in 29 minutes in August of 2019. Becoming an “It Girl” like Emma Chamberlain was no longer just about attitude. It was about what you bought.
Once upon a time, an “It Girl” was simply a girl you wanted to be. She exuded an unquantifiable charm, the kind that couldn’t be bottled, bought or sold. Her appeal was magnetic and untouchable – she was effortlessly cool. But today, the formula for becoming an It Girl has been engineered and packaged into a sort of “How to Woman” manual, filled with strategies for success, largely defined by consumerism. Skincare routines, fashion trends, productivity hacks and even mental health practices are marketed, sold and optimized for Instagram stories and TikTok clips.
Capitalizing on insecurities isn’t new, it’s the engine of modern advertising, but the “It Girl” has always been a particularly successful cog in the machine. Her image evolves exactly when it needs to, which reflects the economic pressures placed on young women and the products that conveniently offer to help. With social media platforms offering a 24/7 spotlight, the demands placed on these young women to appear perfect, always on and always productive have skyrocketed. However, while they sell the promise of freedom and success, what they really vend is the perpetual anxiety of never quite being enough.
The original “It Girl” dates back to the early 20th century, with silent film star Clara Bow often cited as the prototype. In 1927, Photoplay magazine described “It” as “that quality possessed by some which draws all others with its magnetic force.” Bow had it. She didn’t work for it. She wasn’t selling you a skincare line between shots of her beach vacations. Bow’s allure wasn’t tied to her ability to hustle, monetize or curate a brand. It was simply her presence, her energy and her unrefined yet captivating persona. She embodied the idea that charm and appeal could be effortless, that it didn’t come with a price tag.
Throughout the 1960s, the “It Girl” adapted. Swinging London icons like Twiggy and Edie Sedgwick epitomized a new form of feminine allure, a free-spirited, doll-like femininity that was bold, youthful and iconic. In this era, being an “It Girl” meant youth, thinness and an untouchable level of stylish nonchalance. But again, it was still framed as a natural trait. Twiggy’s impossibly large eyes or Edie’s mod wardrobe weren’t seen as something anyone could imitate or replicate. They were simply the byproduct of their innate beauty and effortless style.
Contrast that with today, in a time where the gig economy has made stable, full-time employment a distant dream for many young people. In a time where even teens understand that hard work often doesn’t lead to security, the “It Girl” has evolved once more. She is no longer the cool girl at the party, just another figure of admiration, she is the “Girlboss.”
The term “Girlboss” was popularized in the early 2010s by Sophia Amoruso, CEO of the fast fashion brand, Nasty Gal. Girls were tired of being told to sit down and shut up. They were tired of watching their male peers get praised for the very traits that made them bossy, bitchy even. The “Girlboss” movement opened up space for women to take charge, to redefine their success and to assert their leadership in ways that hadn’t been possible before. It was about breaking barriers and pushing back against the limiting cultural expectations of women. In that sense, the “Girlboss” era was necessary. It cracked open rooms that were previously shut to women. However, somewhere along the way, it shifted from empowerment to expectation. It stopped being about creating opportunities for women and became about creating opportunities for them to sell.
The modern “It Girl”, which is fueled by capitalism and an economy that demands productivity above all else, must hustle. She must build her personal brand. She must turn her followers into a business, her style into a product and her life into something that can be monetized. She must do all this as early as possible. Capitalism has found a way to sell empowerment back to us in the form of retail therapy, productivity apps and wellness trends.
Cue the flood of “It Girl” starter packs on TikTok and Instagram: skin serums, “soft girl” capsule wardrobes, planners promising six-figure side hustles and influencers promoting morning alarms set for 2 a.m. for maximum success. 12-year-old girls are now buying retinol eye cream, experimenting with beauty regimens that promise ageless skin and watching morning routine vlogs about “productivity maxxing”, the very essence of being “successful” and “productive.” In an age where social currency is often more valuable than physical currency, it’s no longer just about looking the part. It’s about acting the part. While self-optimization may feel like freedom, in many ways, it is another form of control.
Emma Chamberlain’s cozy teddy jackets became a uniform not just because they were cute, but because Emma, once the ultimate cool girl of casual YouTube, subtly pivoted into her own mini lifestyle empire. She had it, and now you could buy it too. From the clothes she wore to the iced coffees she drank, Emma became the standard that millions of young girls were encouraged to replicate. This wasn’t just about style, it was a blueprint for an entire lifestyle, and it is one where everything had a price tag.
There’s something deeply unsettling about watching young girls be trained so early to optimize themselves for labor, to craft and perform their personal brands as if their self-worth is directly tied to their ability to hustle. It’s no longer about discovering who you are, but it’s about building a brand before you’re even old enough to drive. Today’s “It Girl” isn’t simply a figure of admiration; she is a product, a laborer, a machine in the capitalist framework. In this framework, no one gets to rest — even when she’s not working, she’s working. The pressure to perform this identity, to be stylish, productive and successful, is all consuming.
Part of this pressure comes from the fact that Gen Z, and now Gen Alpha, have grown up watching millennial disillusionment unfold in real time. They’ve witnessed older generations lose jobs, struggle with debt and be priced out of the housing market. The new “It Girl,” shaped by economic anxiety, preaches self-reliance through self-marketing. She doesn’t wait for opportunity, so she is the opportunity.
Where does that leave girls who are tired? Girls who are introverted? Girls who don’t want to build a business empire by 16? In a world where being “on” is the only acceptable way of existing, where is the space for rest, for quiet and for the freedom to simply exist without pressure? If you’re not thriving, if you’re not creating a brand or building a business, it feels like a personal failure.
The idea that womanhood itself is a project, one you can fail at if you don’t buy the right things, is something that is baked into every stage. Even the backlash cycles i.e. “You don’t have to be a girlboss!” articles get monetized, selling self-care retreats, books and courses on how to “do less” but better. It’s capitalism all the way down.
Here’s where I struggle. On one hand, the “Girlboss” spirit is essential. It was born from very real limits, cultural expectations of submission, dependence and smallness. Fighting that? I’m in.
But why do we need to qualify it? Why “girlboss” instead of just boss? Why do we accept the assumption that femininity still needs its own separate, softer branding to succeed? Why do we sell self-empowerment only to turn it into another commodity? Why do we equate personal growth with purchasing power?
If empowerment is always tied to consumption, who’s really being empowered? Is it the women, or the companies who capitalize on their desires, insecurities and dreams, of which 91% are owned by men in the United States?
The “It Girl” of today is fierce, smart and driven, but she’s also exhausted, commodified and subtly policed by an endless stream of products disguising themselves as personal freedom.
Maybe the next “It Girl” – if there needs to be one at all – won’t be someone selling anything. Maybe she’ll be someone we recognize not for what she wears or how she works, but for how she lives, products aside.
